Expecting to see her face cloud with the look of resentful suspicion he knew so well he was agreeably surprised when she merely smiled faintly and replied:
"My dear, of course I know! It is most natural. I too would like to get away. Why don't you go to a nursing-home for a bit?"
Both he and his aunt could hardly believe their ears. Thérèse was surely becoming much more reasonable than formerly.
"Perhaps, it depends on how I feel. It's jolly decent of you to understand. Of course it's nothing but nerves——"
"Oh, my dear, don't trouble to explain! As if I didn't know what nerves are! I don't suppose, in that case, you will want Sartorius?"
"Well, I——" He broke off, embarrassed, scarcely able to keep the amazement out of his voice.
"Because I think he wants to run down to Algiers for a little rest.
He's only staying to please me."
The matter had cleared up in the simplest fashion. Roger felt a rush of slightly ashamed gratitude towards his step-mother, feeling a little reluctantly, as he had done once before, that he had misjudged her. Confused by her kindly impulses he stooped to pick up the wisp of a handkerchief she had let fall to the floor. As he laid it in her lap she uttered a sharp little cry.
"Roger—your hand! Let me see, please. Why, it's bleeding again!
Aren't you doing anything for it?"
He allowed her to examine it, while his aunt adjusted her spectacles and moved nearer to see.