"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."
Reassured, 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?"