with a slight
movement of the head in her direction.

"Nice girl, that," he said laconically.

For an instant his son's eyes met his.

"I'm inclined to share your opinion," the younger man agreed with
conviction. After a moment's hesitation he strode quickly across the
room and re-entered the dressing-room.

"Miss Rowe!" he called.

She was in the bathroom beyond, washing her hands free of
flower-stains. She looked up in some surprise to find the son of the
house beside her.

"What time do you have free?" he demanded abruptly.

"Oh, an hour or so in the afternoon. I usually go out for a walk."

She shook her dripping fingers and reached for a towel. He noticed
that her hands, though slender and long, were firm and capable as
well--the sort of hands he admired in a woman.

"I see. Then supposing I came straight back from the courts after
lunch, would you care to come for a drive with me? It wouldn't bore
you?"

"Bore me! What do you think?"

There was no doubt as to her genuine delight. Her eyes shone, the
flecks of red deepened in her cheeks.

"Right-o! That's understood, then."

He grasped her still damp hand and was gone, leaving her with a slight
feeling of confusion the reverse of unpleasant. She continued drying
her hands, slowly, painstakingly, her thoughts far away. She was
realising a most important fact, namely, that never before with any man
of her acquaintance had she experienced a similar elation, a like
breathless flutter of the pulses. She had had more than one proposal
of marriage; perhaps if she had ever felt like this...

Her cheeks were warm when she came back to her patient, and she was a
little self-conscious when she saw the shrewd old eyes fix themselves
upon her with a quizzical but not unkindly gleam.

"You're much better to-day, aren't you?" she remarked to cover her
confusion. "I'm so glad--I'm feeling very pleased with you. Your
temperature is coming down nicely; you must just keep it up and you'll
be well before you know it."

It was true, she felt personal triumph and gratification in the
progress he was making. It was as if she were definitely fighting for
him against those malevolent wishes in which she had begun to believe,
so that his continued improvement was "one up" for her side. Yet what
an anomaly Lady Clifford presented! Why the elaborate pretence of
caring for her husband, brought to the point of preparing his milk for
him? It wasn't what on