"Stop! Lady Clifford, what on earth are you doing?"

Wholly aghast, Esther forgot everything except that her patient was being bodily attacked--there was no other word for what was happening.

Running forward, she grasped the wife forcibly by the arm and pulled her back from the bed, then, thoroughly frightened, bent over the old man, who had sunk back limp and panting. In her ear she heard the Frenchwoman's choked breathing, but she did not trouble to look at her.

"Are you all right, Sir Charles?" she asked as calmly as she could.

She was amazed to see a queer little flicker of humour in the sunken eyes.

"Oh, quite, quite," he gasped in a spent tone. "Don't trouble about me: but just get Lady Clifford away, will you?"

Turning, Esther beheld a look of baleful resentment in the black-fringed eyes. She remarked the stubby white hand with its carmine nails slowly rubbing a spot on the opposite arm, where she had grasped it a moment ago.

"You! You!" breathed the Frenchwoman in a suppressed voice. "What business have you to interfere in matters that do not concern you?"

"But I'm afraid this does concern me, Lady Clifford, very much indeed,"

replied Esther, as lightly as she could. "Do forgive me if I caught hold of you rather roughly. I am sure you didn't realise what you were doing. It--it was really dangerous for him, you know."

"Dangerous!" repeated the other with withering contempt. "For him!

T'ck!--leave us, please. There is something I must say to him. I will not forget myself, I promise you!"

"No, Lady Clifford, really, not to-day. It wouldn't be wise. We must get him quiet."

Sir Charles interposed in a whisper:

"It's quite settled, my dear, I've nothing further to say. You will see that I am right."

She burst out hysterically, trying to get past Esther to the bed:

"No, no, you do not understand; you are doing a terrible thing!

Charles darling, if you love me..."

She broke off abruptly, staring at the hall door.

Following her gaze, Esther saw that Roger had just entered and was looking gravely from one to the other of the three. It seemed likely that he had heard the disturbance and was come to investigate.

"There he is now!" cried Therese, pointing at her stepson. "Tell him you will make some other arrangement, that you have changed your mind; you will, you must!"

Esther noticed that Roger displayed no astonishment whatever, merely glancing expectantly at his father. The old man's lips twisted into a grim smile as he remarked dryly:

"You behave as if you were quite certain I was going to die, my dear."

A swift change came over her face. Pushing Esther aside, she threw herself on her knees beside the bed, grasping her husband's bony hand and pressing it against her cheek emotionally.

"Ah, why do you say such things. You are too cruel; you want to make me suffer!"

"There, there, don't make a song about it. Of course I don't want to make you suffer. Now go. I want to rest."

Still clinging to his hand, she began to weep, convulsively, without restraint. Esther, greatly embarra.s.sed, made two attempts to lift her up, but she resisted. At last Roger bent over the huddled figure and touched her on the shoulder.

"See here, Therese," he whispered, so low that the rather deaf old man did not catch his words, "I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but if we oppose him now it can only do harm. Leave him to me, and when he's well enough I'll tackle him again."

The weeping ceased, she stiffened to attention, her face still hidden.

Then slowly she raised her head, her cheeks streaked with tears.

Little rivulets of black coursed from her lashes. For several seconds her gaze swept his countenance, her expression strangely hostile, yet enigmatic. Watching her, Esther could not possibly guess what was going on behind that mask.

"Very well," Lady Clifford murmured at last in a detached voice, all pa.s.sion gone. "You may be right."

She got up, smoothed her hair automatically, drew her peignoir close about her, and walked out of the room like a woman in a dream. Esther gazed after her, astonished but relieved. She had feared she would have to remove her by force. Now that the extraordinary episode was over she was quite unnerved, her heart beat fast, her hands trembled.

Roger eyed her sympathetically.

"Don't look so upset, Esther," he whispered rea.s.suringly. "You must tell me presently what happened, though I have a pretty good idea."

They both glanced at the old man. His eyes were closed now, he was breathing more quietly.

"He seems all right," murmured Esther doubtfully. "I'm still a little frightened; it--it was terrifying."

He took her arm and drew her well out of earshot towards the window.

"Don't worry too much," he told her. "I shouldn't wonder if the poor old boy is more used to bursts of temperament than you are, you know!"

She smiled at him gratefully, feeling comforted. It was not till later that she realised he had a moment ago called her "Esther." It had seemed perfectly natural.

Soon after lunch she made an excuse to take her patient's temperature, for she was not yet sure he had suffered no bad effects. However, the thermometer registered no change. Sir Charles may have noticed the relief on her face, for he remarked hesitatingly, choosing his words:

"You mustn't take my wife's excitability too much to heart, nurse. It is true she goes up in the air sometimes, but she always comes down again. She's rather like a spoiled child, but that may be partly my fault."

"Of course--you mustn't think I don't understand," she a.s.sured him quickly, thinking what a generous explanation he had given for an unpardonable offence. The instance she had witnessed of Lady Clifford's "temperament" was unique in her experience, and she hoped it would remain so. Not readily would she forget those sharp accents of rage and--was it fear? She had thought at the time it was fear; she could not be certain.

It did not surprise her that Lady Clifford should fail to appear at _dejeuner_, but she was unprepared for the new development announced by Aline, the maid, who came into the dining-room at the close of the meal and somewhat portentously informed the doctor that her ladyship was "_tres souffrante_" and wished to see him at once.

"_Souffrante_, Aline?" repeated Miss Clifford. "Is it a headache?"

Aline replied that it was both backache and headache. She was a steely-faced woman of middle age with gimlet eyes and dank black hair in a ragged fringe. As she spoke she eyed the company at the table with a sort of malicious triumph.

"Oh----!" exclaimed Miss Clifford, slightly dismayed. "I don't quite like the sound of that--do you, doctor?"

Without answering her, Sartorius finished his coffee and rose.

"_Moi je crois,_" volunteered Aline with enjoyment, "_que Madame a un peu de fievre._"

"Oh, I hope not!" The old lady glanced quickly at Roger and then at Esther, who both remained impa.s.sive.

"It may be nothing at all," Esther said soothingly, just as she had done on a former occasion. "I shouldn't get upset."

However, within a quarter of an hour, the doctor summoned Esther to Lady Clifford's bedroom. Lady Clifford certainly showed preliminary symptoms of typhoid, he informed her, so that it would be as well to administer the necessary doses of anti-toxin. Taking the thing in time like this was a good chance of warding it off.

"Naturally we won't mention this to Sir Charles," he added. "We'll let him think she's merely suffering from a cold."