She settled the invalid on his pillow once more, noting the ghost of an ironical smile that flitted over his features. Between half-shut lids he watched the two women with an amused appreciation.
"I think, perhaps, it would be as well if you said good-night to him now, Lady Clifford," hinted Esther tactfully. "In a short time I am going to begin getting him ready for the night, and I like to have him absolutely quiet before-hand."
Hoping her suggestion would prove sufficient, she started removing flowers from the room. When she returned she saw Lady Clifford kiss the patient's cheek, then straighten up, wrap her négligé closer about her slender body, and move towards the door.
"Bon soir, mon cher," she called softly, kissing her finger-tips to him, "dors bien!"
So charming, so transparently appealing … yet she had been looking for something under the pillow, Esther was convinced of it. Sir Charles, she thought, realised it, too. But what was it she had been trying to discover? Suddenly she recalled the will that Roger had taken out of the safe that morning. Ah! Lady Clifford wanted to have a look at it; she was nervous for some reason. It was like old Sir Charles to keep his intentions closely guarded.
Several times that evening she noticed that Roger's gaze rested on her with interest. She was feminine enough to wonder if he thought she looked nice in the little wine-red frock she had put on. It was such a relief to get out of her stiff uniform that she always managed to change for dinner when there was sufficient time.
As a matter of fact, Roger was thinking as she sat there on a low stool, one foot curled under her, that she looked absurdly young, hardly more than a little girl. He believed she could be frivolous, too, gay without being silly, as he put it. So few girls could achieve that….
"Do you like dancing?" he demanded abruptly.
"Do I not!"
"Then I'll tell you what we'll do. To-morrow evening we'll run down to the Casino for dinner and dance a bit. Would you care to?"