"I will try," said Sophy patiently.
"Good!" he exclaimed. He went towards the door, then turned again.
"Tell Lady Wych—yes, Wychcote; thanks—tell her if she does not believe what I say, to ask her son to show her his bare arms. Good afternoon."
He was gone.
Before Sophy followed his advice and went to lie down, she sent a telegram to Lady Wychcote, who was on a visit to some friends in Paris. The telegram said:
"Cecil seriously but not dangerously ill. Must consult you. When may I expect to see you?
"Sophy Chesney."
When this was done, she went to her room and let Tilda fuss over her and make her comfortable on the bed. Carfew was right; scarcely had she lain down than she dropped into a profound sleep which lasted for several hours.
As soon as she woke, she sent for Gaynor. She had made up her mind to speak plainly to him. She felt that her antipathy towards him had come from her instinct that he was hiding something. Now that she understood his reasons for secrecy and the difficulty of his position, she no longer disliked but respected the quiet, dry little man who was so loyal to his master.
"Gaynor," she began. Her lip trembled in spite of her. She turned her head and looked out of the window for a second; then she went on firmly: "I've sent for you to thank you—for what you've tried to do for Mr. Chesney, Gaynor. And for coming to me—about a—about Doctor Carfew this morning."