He approached slowly, showing a sort of lethargic reluctance towards effort which extended even to the muscles of his almost expressionless face. To some he might have appeared dull and stupid, but Esther knew this was not true. There was life in the flicker of his small eyes, deep-set, bilious in tinge, and as she looked into them she received the impression of a great inner concentration of energy.
"You are American, I see."
"Well, Canadian, as a matter of fact. I trained in New York."
"A nurse, then. Where did you train?"
"St. Luke's."
She thought this made a good impression.
He made a chary movement of his hand towards a chair and at the same time sank into a fragile fauteuil, which creaked with his weight. He sighed, obviously bored with the prospect of the interview.
"What are you doing in France?"
"I came here as companion to a patient of mine who hates travelling alone. We stopped a week in Paris; then I brought her here, where she met some friends with whom she went on to Algeria. It was arranged beforehand. I was only to come as far as Cannes. I've been here a week now, and I was going back to New York, only——"
"Well?"