The old lady shook her head slowly, utterly perplexed.

"But why? I can't see the least sense in it."

Roger sank upon the Chesterfield sofa and pushed his hair back from his forehead.

"Why? Because she didn't want me to come, I suppose. Of course, you must realise that Therese isn't fond of me."

"But even so, it's so--so stupid! You were sure to hear about your father sooner or later."

"Yes. I should think she merely meant to postpone it a little. I have figured it out like this: she dislikes to have me here, so she omitted to send that cable in order to put off my knowing the old man was ill.

Not hearing from me, in a few days you'd cable again. Then I should wire back to ask if there was any necessity of my coming over, she would show the message to Father, knowing perfectly well he would insist on my staying to finish up the business. She knows he would have to be in the last extremity before he'd be willing for me to quit in the middle of a big job. In the end the chances were I'd not have to come at all. Do you see?"

His aunt picked up the comb again and carefully smoothed her front hair.

"It sounds very complicated. Do you suppose she reasoned all that out and was prepared to take so much trouble to keep you away?"

"I do," he said simply, and lit a cigarette.

"It's hard to believe. And yet... Roger, why is it Therese dislikes you?"

He got up and strolled about aimlessly.

"Ask me another," he replied lightly, with a shrug of the shoulders.

"You've never quarrelled?"

"Oh, no, certainly not!"

He had no intention of revealing that hidden episode. After a moment, seeing the troubled look on his aunt's face, he put his arm around her ample waist.

"I'm sorry I mentioned the beastly matter, Dido, honestly I am! Don't attach too much importance to what I've said. We all have our little peculiarities, and I just happened to stumble on one of Therese's, that's all. She doesn't mean any harm. Stand up and let me look at you. Is that a new gown?"

It evidently was, as her frank pleasure showed. She added a long string of tortoisesh.e.l.l beads which Roger had given her on his last visit, and surveyed the effect in the gla.s.s, thinking what a long time it was since anyone had admired her appearance.

"My dear," she said after a pause, "I think perhaps I ought to tell Therese about that cable, and give her the chance to explain."

"Don't," commanded her nephew quickly. "She can only say one of two things--either that she forgot it, or else she'll swear she sent it and blame the cable office. In either event we sha'n't believe her, and the result will create an unpleasant atmosphere. Better let it drop."

"I suppose you're right," sighed his aunt. "Only it makes me uncomfortable."

"It would make us much more uncomfortable to have Therese in one of her sulky moods, especially with strangers in the house. I don't care about the doctor chap, he doesn't appear very sensitive, but that little day-nurse, for instance..."

"She is nice, isn't she? Of course she is a lady. I realised that the moment I saw her. I recall now that she was in the room when I told Therese you were coming, and although she made no sign I'm sure she noticed how upset Therese was. I felt humiliated."

"Oh, so Therese was upset, was she?" mused Roger, pondering this confirmation of his theory. "I wonder what your little nurse thinks of her?"

"Oh, Therese is charming to both nurses. The night-nurse, who has been here from the beginning, would do anything for her. She is always saying how lovely she is."

"Oh well!"--he yawned and gave a lazy stretch--"that's all to the good.

I'm glad. I have an impression that the little Canadian girl is a pretty good judge of character, for all she looks so young and innocent."

Quitting his aunt's room, he sauntered in the direction of his own. He was fairly satisfied with the explanation he had evolved regarding the cable. He alone knew the extent to which Therese hated having him under the same roof with her. Outwardly she was cordial enough, but he realised that he must be a thorn in the flesh to her, although he had never had reason to believe she would take so definite a step to keep him away from Cannes. How furious she must have been at the shipwreck of her little plan!

He laughed aloud, so absorbed in the mental picture of her chagrin, that he collided with a dapper young man in a dinner jacket at that moment about to enter Therese's sitting-room. Pulling up short, he looked to see who it was who made so free of the house, and, simultaneously, the visitor wheeled round with an expression of nonchalant arrogance.

"Holliday!"

"Ah, it's you, Clifford!"

The greeting, though not exactly unfriendly, lacked warmth on both sides.

"I heard over the telephone you were expected. How's the great New World?"

"Oh, flourishing. I suppose you're dining here?"

"Why, no. As a matter of fact, I thought of taking Therese out somewhere. She's a bit frayed out, poor girl; she thought it might help her to sleep if she got away for a couple of hours. Rotten shame about your father. Typhoid's no joke at his time of life."

"Still, he seems to be going on fairly well."

"So I hear. I've been having a chat with Sartorius. He's by way of being a pal of mine, you know."

"Yes, my aunt tells me he did great things for you."

"Great!"--with a short laugh--"I should think he did. You didn't see me at that time, did you? I was just about to 'pa.s.s in my checks,' as your Yankee friends would say. He's a wizard, that's what he is.

Never will be a fashionable physician, not enough ambition. Well, cheerio. I shall be seeing you soon no doubt."

He disappeared into the boudoir and closed the door. Roger continued thoughtfully across the landing. Resentment stirred in him at the cool manner in which Arthur Holliday came upstairs unannounced and went into rooms without knocking. Not that he cared on his stepmother's account, but it seemed to him an indignity to his father, an old man, belonging to another and more formal generation. It was evidence of a vulgar streak in Therese that she should permit such familiarities, whatever her relations with Holliday might be. He was glad that his simple-minded aunt appeared to remain in the dark about an affair which was plainly apparent to him, had been so a year ago. Probably by now Therese had completely lost her head over the casual Arthur, who on his side would never lose his head over any woman.

"Odd, that boy's success with women," he reflected a moment later as he turned on his bath. "He makes no effort whatever, yet they all pursue him. Since he was a youngster he has always had some woman hanging around his neck, usually a rich one."

Here a sudden thought came to him.

"By George! I wonder if Therese has been taking care of him all this time? Funny not to think of it before. I suppose it never occurred to me such a thing could happen where the old man's money was concerned, and yet he is old, and--d.a.m.n it all, that would account for her consuming rage when he put her on short commons. I'd give something to know if that baccarat story is true."

The speculation engrossed him until the bath was full; then, lying in the warm water, he ceased to concern himself with his stepmother's affairs and gave himself up to sheer exultation at the prospect of the month of idleness before him. Since October he had worked with every atom of brain energy he possessed; now he could revel in his holiday, knowing he had earned it. He thought of tennis, of motoring to Monte Carlo, of dining and dancing afterwards, provided he could find a girl he liked. Somehow, as this idea occurred to him, he had a mental "flash-back" of the little nurse, more particularly of her slender legs and ankles as she had hurried along the pa.s.sage that morning. There was a girl, now, who looked as if she knew how to enjoy things. Why should not he ask her to come out with him one evening to sample a little of the night-life of Cannes? He felt that with her as a companion the usual round would have twice its savour.

Esther came out of Sir Charles's room just as Captain Holliday issued from the adjoining apartment, with the result that they met face to face in the hall. She was about to pa.s.s after a formal greeting, but he, bestowing on her a perfunctory salutation, suddenly came a step nearer and stared at her so pointedly that she stopped, thinking he must have something to say.

"So you've taken on this job, have you?" he remarked tentatively, his eyes boring into hers. "You know, I've never been satisfied with that story of yours about my seeing you--where was it you said?--at the Carlton."

"I said I saw you there. Perhaps it wasn't where you saw me," she replied simply.

"Anyhow, it's not the occasion I mean. I've seen you somewhere else, in different circ.u.mstances ... not that it matters a d.a.m.n, but..."

"But it makes conversation," she finished the sentence for him, laughing.

"If you hadn't that thing on your head, now," he suggested seriously, "I might be able to recall where it was."