"Roger—do you mind? I'd like to take your temperature."
"Mine? What for?"
"Don't be cross, I really think I'd better."
"Oh, all right, go ahead."
A moment later, when she was in the act of counting his pulse and while the thermometer was sticking out of his mouth, Lady Clifford entered, followed by her sister-in-law, the latter looking tired and much older. Both women looked on with interest and concern.
"Miss Rowe—you don't think——?"
"It is up a little," Esther admitted, holding the thermometer to the light. "Just a hundred. I thought so last night. It isn't much, of course."
"So did I. You see, Roger! You wouldn't believe me."
"Well, what if it is? It's nothing worth mentioning."
Miss Clifford glanced helplessly at the others, and Thérèse gave a pathetic shrug. She looked fragile and wan, all life gone out of her.