There was more and more interest in Claire’s face, a little tinge of returning colour. She leaned forward. The icy note had gone from her tone.
“How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “I—well, to tell you the truth, Doctor, the other night when we were dancing, when I was offended, I thought that he had had too much to drink.”
The doctor shook his head.
“It wasn’t that at all,” he assured her gravely. “Now, mind you, Miss Endacott, I’m not defending Ballaston. I don’t even know what the cause of offence was—certainly I’m not trying to interfere in any way—but he is suffering, and suffering terribly, and it isn’t doing him any good to be cut off from you. If you could just remember that, you might be able to help him, perhaps more than any one else.”
“I will remember,” she promised. “Thank you very much indeed.”
The doctor took his leave and Claire sat gazing out to sea with a kindlier expression in her face. A few minutes later, Gregory left the smoking room, and, seeing her, was turning the other way. She called to him softly.
“Mr. Ballaston.”
He glanced around in surprise.
“Mr. Ballaston, please come here for a moment.”
He approached slowly and stood before her, bareheaded. As she looked at him her pity increased. His eyes were very brilliant but they seemed to have sunken, and he was certainly thinner in the face.