"Oh, no, he's a young man, remember," Esther reassured her quickly.
"He will be all right, only you must make him go to bed."
"I persuaded him to lie down after lunch, and he's sound asleep now, so
Chalmers tells me. I wonder if I ought to tell him you're going?
He'll be so cross when he finds out."
"Not on any account," Esther forbade her firmly. "It would be wrong to disturb him."
"He is really very difficult," went on the old lady confidentially. "Between ourselves, I don't know what my sister-in-law is going to think of his behaving in this way, refusing to take the doctor's advice. She's doing all she can for the boy, and if he continues as he is doing he is almost sure to offend her. She's extremely sensitive!"
Esther was silent, hoping Roger would follow her advice about the nursing-home.
"Well, au revoir, my dear! I'm very sorry indeed, and I shall miss you. I shall never forget how kind you were to my brother."
Her brown eyes filled with tears as she kissed Esther's cheek.
There was no sign of the doctor when Esther slowly descended to the entrance hall. She would have liked to slip away by herself, but it was too late, Chalmers had just placed her luggage on the back of the doctor's car; she met him coming back. Moreover, she had intended to stop at the chemist's on her way down; now of course she dared not do it. What Miss Clifford had said about Roger's symptoms and the dreadful uncertainty had intensified all her vague fears, so that suddenly she felt she must end the suspense at once—if possible, before she quitted the house. Who could say what might happen once she got away?
Was there anything she could do? It would be late, perhaps too late before she would have a chance of reaching the chemist; the shop might be closed. Her eye fell on the little cloak-room at the back of the stairs, where the telephone was kept. Of course—she had a minute to spare now. What was to prevent her telephoning? The chemist spoke English—she could make him understand.
She cast a swift glance around; there was no one in sight. Then she slipped into the little room and rapidly searched in the telephone book for the name—Cailler, it was; she remembered because it was the name of a milk chocolate. Ah, here it was! With gratifying dispatch she got the connection, heard a voice which she recognised as belonging with the curly blond beard.