"Well, you might think of it again when you want a little extra colour," commented the old man dryly, but with an approving glance.
As her eyes met his shyly, noting how the quizzical smile softened his rather grim features, she realised his resemblance to his son. Simultaneously Sir Charles became for her a human being. Up till now he had been merely a "case." Something about him roused her sympathy, a wave of pity swept over her, she felt that she would put her whole heart into the task of taking care of him and making him well. Odd! Was this the result of flattered vanity? Or was it because the old man happened to resemble a certain young one? There was no denying that the pleasant glow had persisted ever since that trivial conversation in the hall.
She was late for déjeuner, and on entering the dining-room found Lady Clifford just leaving, and Miss Clifford and her nephew lingering over their coffee.
"You've had a lot to do, haven't you, Miss Rowe?" Miss Clifford greeted her kindly. "It doesn't matter, everything has been kept hot."
As Esther sat down the old lady continued what she was saying to the young man:
"Yes, it is very nice of Thérèse," she remarked, "really most thoughtful."
"What is?" inquired Roger absently, his eyes on Esther.
"Why, to give the doctor a lift back to his house. It is quite out of her way, but she knows that he hates driving his own car."
"Oh!" he exclaimed briefly, as though the matter did not interest him.
"I wonder if there's a car I can have this afternoon?"
"Certainly, the little Citroën; it's in good order."