“Come in!” said Mrs. Clarke, in her ordinary voice.
Sonia opened the door and came in.
“Excuse me, Madame,” she said, “but you told me I was to bathe your hand. If it is not bathed it will look horrible to-morrow. I have the warm water all ready.”
She stood in front of her mistress, broad, awkward and yet capable. Dion felt certain this woman meant to get rid of him because she was aware that her mistress wanted him to go. He had always realized that Sonia knew Mrs. Clarke better than any other woman did. As for himself—she had never shown any feeling towards him. He did not know whether she liked him or disliked him. But now he knew that he disliked her.
He looked almost menacingly at her.
“Your mistress can’t go at present,” he said. “Her hand is all right. It was only a scratch.”
Sonia looked at her mistress.
“Sonia is quite right,” said Mrs. Clarke, getting up. “And as the water is warm I will go. Good-by.”
“I will stay here till you have finished,” he said, still looking at Sonia.
“It’s getting very late. We might finish our talk to-morrow.”