"Baccarat!"
"Well, you know your father has never much approved of gambling, beyond what he calls a mild flutter; so when he found she was throwing away several thousands a year——"
"As much as that?"
"I believe so. I never heard the exact amount, but it was staggering, that much I know. At any rate, he put a stop to it at once. He went carefully into all her legitimate expenses, and the result was he made her a fixed allowance—oh, a generous one—he has never been mean with her—only if she wants more, he must be told what it's for."
"Good boy!" murmured Roger with approval. "So of course she was in a devil of a rage?"
"Devil expresses it rather well, I'm afraid, Roger. I've only seen one other person so violent, and that was an Irish cook we had before you were born, who drank raw spirit out of the bottle. As for Thérèse, she stormed first, then she wept, and was pathetic, then she raged again. Altogether she must have tried everything, but you know what your father is like when he takes a stand. At last she shut herself up in her room and sent for the doctor. She declared she was ill, and threatened going into a nursing home. After a few days, however, she came to herself, very subdued, but much more pleasant and anxious to please. I can't help thinking she might have been better all along if Charles hadn't spoiled her so, if from the start he had taken a firmer hand."
Roger frowned a little dubiously.
"A woman, a spaniel and a walnut tree——" he murmured. "At any rate,
I am very glad for the old man's sake, and yours, too!"
"Yes, as you know, I would never stay here if your father didn't insist on it, but now it is much more agreeable; there is scarcely any friction. She seems far less self-centred. Why, to give you one little instance; earlier in the winter your father was ordered to drink milk between meals. We had special milk in sealed bottles, and we kept it upstairs in a small refrigerator. I always opened the bottles myself and gave it to Charles at the right times—you know I have always attended to that sort of thing. But one day Thérèse came to me and asked if she might see to it herself. She said she felt she would like to do something for him. Of course I was delighted, so she has done it ever since. Still, it was unlike her, wasn't it?"
"Very," assented her nephew dryly, while his face grew a little more thoughtful. "Indeed, I feel almost inclined to question her motives. Don't you suppose this is just another attempt to get round him? 'Timeo Danaos,' you know."