"Qu'il fait chaud!" she exclaimed, going to the nearest window and flinging it open with a jerk. "Stifling! There, that is better."
She stood for several seconds breathing in the fresh air, her body tense as if on steel wires, her head thrown back. Then, relaxing somewhat, she turned and spoke to Esther, as if suddenly recalling her presence.
"You come from New York, I hear," she said, with another keen glance; "do you like it, New York?"
Esther replied that she did, but Lady Clifford closed her eyes, not listening.
"Ah, New York, that is a place I have never visited. It must be marvellous. Some day I shall go there, some day when I am…"
She did not finish, for at that moment the butler came in to announce lunch. She had stretched out her arms with a sort of abandon, but now she let them fall abruptly, gave a sigh, and without looking in Esther's direction walked into her own bedroom on the right, perhaps to give a touch to her hair, or another brush of powder to her flawless nose.
The breeze, with wet freshness, cleansed the over-perfumed room, fluttering the papers on the writing-table. The top sheet sailed through the air and settled on the hearthrug. Mechanically Esther picked it up to replace it, the habit of order being strong upon her. Unavoidably she saw that it was covered with figures in angular French writing, money sums by the look of them, with frequent signs of the pound and the franc. She anchored the paper upon the blotter with a little carving of amethyst crystal, then, turning away, perceived Lady Clifford, motionless in the doorway, regarding her with eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Your papers were blowing about," explained Esther. Inwardly she was asking herself: "What is the matter with me? I always seem to be imagining things with this woman!"
With one of her swift movements the beautiful Thérèse snatched up the rescued sheet and tore it to bits.
"It is of no consequence, this," she remarked indifferently, dropping the pieces into the waste-basket.