"I was thinking we were safe out of the woods," she said sadly. "Now you've depressed me again."

"There is no need," the doctor a.s.sured her, patting her shoulder with the deliberate kindliness he reserved for her. "Barring accidents, we may hope for good things."

When he uttered the word "accidents" it seemed to Esther that his eyes rested coldly upon her, quite as though she herself might through some piece of carelessness endanger Sir Charles's chance of recovery. Why on earth did he take that suspicious att.i.tude? It had struck her often the past few days that he was over-critical in regard to her, always ready to find fault. Yet she knew that Sir Charles liked her and that as far as she could tell, she had never failed in her duty. She was glad when the doctor withdrew from the room; she felt she could breathe again.

"Don't let him upset you," she could not help saying to the old lady: "I am sure he only wants to be over-conscientious, and--though perhaps I shouldn't venture to say so--it strikes me Sir Charles has really quite a lot of fighting power. Why, if he wasn't any worse the other day----"

The words slipped out before she knew it. She broke off, her face scarlet. Not for words would she have referred to the incident, least of all in Lady Clifford's hearing.

"Why, what happened the other day?" inquired Miss Clifford, placidly dealing.

"Didn't I tell you? I upset a basin of water, almost over him. Wasn't it stupid?"

It was the first thing that came into her mind. She felt the Frenchwoman's eyes upon her full of shrewd understanding.

"Oh! Was that all? That couldn't have been very serious."

"I a.s.sure you the doctor thought it was."

Lady Clifford lit a fresh cigarette and fitted it into her long holder, then she spoke.

"I think, Dido, Charles is certainly less feeble than we feared. These past few days I have felt quite sure he is going to get well. Roger thinks so, too."

The final sentence was not lost on Esther, who chid herself indignantly for being annoyed. Wasn't it better that there should be peace in the house instead of an armed neutrality?

At that moment one of those trifling things occurred which lately seemed constantly coming across her path. A movement of Lady Clifford's arm swept her cigarette-case to the floor and it fell with a clatter close to the card-table. Stooping down, Esther picked it up and crossed to restore it to its owner.

"_Merci, mille fois,_" Therese murmured mechanically, putting out her hand. She did not look up or she would have seen the sudden dilation of Esther's eyes as she caught sight of the fashion drawings on the two pages open in front of her.

The sketches showed in every detail, and with the greatest possible degree of _chic_ and _coquetterie_, the latest mode in widow's garb.

What a curious paradox! It was absurdly unimportant, yet how odd it seemed that Lady Clifford, while speaking with calm confidence of her husband's recovery, should at the same time be regarding with interest the newest ideas in mourning!

"Your play, my dear. Why, what is the matter? Were you bothered about something?"

"No, not in the least, Miss Clifford. I'm rather tired to-night, that's all. Perhaps it's the weather."

She was not sorry to say good-night and withdraw to the solitude of her bedroom. The sense of vague trouble which had so often haunted her since she had entered this house was strong upon her now. It had been an uncomfortable evening; Roger's enigmatic behaviour still disturbed her peace of mind. Now, for an insufficient reason, she felt uneasy about her patient. She could not go to bed without having a look at him, merely to set her fears at rest.

The night-nurse was sitting in an easy chair behind the screen, reading a Tauchnitz edition of a novel by Florence Barclay. She came forward with her elaborately cautious step, smiling with all her false teeth to the fore.

"How is he to-night? Going on as usual?" Esther whispered.

"Oh, quate, quate! Look at him--as peaceful as a baby, poor old thing.

I hardly think we need to worry. I hear _she's_ down to-night. How's she looking?"

"Quite herself. I don't believe there was much the matter with her really."

"No, they took it in time. Ah, she is a lovely thing and no mistake.

Aline's been showing me some of her undies; simply a dream they are--_I_ never saw anything like them."

Rea.s.sured, Esther proceeded to her own room. Try as she would, she could not dismiss from her mind that matter of Roger and Lady Clifford.

It stuck like a burr. Constantly before her mental vision was spread the picture of those two, clasped in an embrace which looked at the very least affectionate. She realised now that probably she had done the wrong thing by bolting out of the room; it would have been wiser to go in as if there were nothing unusual. Only she was so startled she had not time to think. What was the meaning of this sudden reconciliation? An idea came to her. Suppose Roger had all the time been secretly fond of his stepmother--too fond? So often hatred was an inverted form of love. Could it be true, that he subconsciously loved her and despised himself for so doing?

What a hateful thought! There was something particularly humiliating and unpleasant about it, yet now that it had come she could not get rid of it. She seized a brush and attacked her hair angrily, brushing hard to exercise her annoyance.

A knock sounded at the door, a man's voice called softly:

"Have you gone to bed yet?"

With her curls all wild, she dropped the brush and opened the door.

Outside was Roger, in his old tweed coat, raindrops standing out on its hairy surface.

"I want to talk to you," he said simply.

CHAPTER XXII

"Oh! Is anything the matter?"

She noticed that he looked embarra.s.sed.

"No, nothing. Come outside for a few minutes; downstairs is best, where we won't disturb anybody. The whole house seems to have turned in, and it's only ten-thirty."

They descended to the floor below and sat on the broad stairs in semi-darkness. Esther waited, curious to know what he was going to say. He lit a cigarette and seemed reluctant to begin.

"I've been driving in the rain for a couple of hours," he volunteered at last. "I've got a beastly head for some reason or other. I thought the air might do it good."

There was a long, awkward pause, then finally he turned and eyed her with the same shamefaced expression she had noticed at dinner.

"Well," he said abruptly, "what do you think of me?"

She returned his gaze with transparent innocence.

"Think of you?" she repeated. "Nothing. Why?"

He drew a deep breath.

"Come now, Esther, you know you've been wondering about what you saw this afternoon. It wouldn't be human not to. What conclusion did you come to in regard to my stepmother and me?"

"Oh," she replied indifferently, "I don't know. What do you want me to think?"

"Poker face! There's nothing to be got out of you, is there?" he said, smiling. "I see I'll have to tell you--and yet I feel such a beast to say anything about it. Besides, there's a bit I can't tell; it wouldn't be decent."

Esther interposed quickly:

"There's no reason why you should say anything. Please don't, if you'd rather not."