fore. I wonder what
has come over her?" Roger said as they quickened their pace again.
"What are you in such a hurry for? Don't you want the doctor to see
you?"

"It isn't that; I only feel I'd like to be home first," Esther excused
herself, not quite sure of her own reasons for trying to escape
Sartorius's notice.

"Rubbish. You don't want him to see you with me. Now own up, my dear.
Isn't that true?"

"No, it isn't a bit true. That's too absurd!"

"Well, true or not, why should we mind? We are not the conspirators,"
Roger retorted lightly.

Somehow the word "conspirators," jokingly uttered, gave her a queer,
uncomfortable feeling. There had been something about those two
sauntering figures, so close together, that had emphasised the dim,
instinctive notion she had had before of something between the pair.
Yet what was there strange in Lady Clifford's taking a short stroll
with her private physician?

"More of my nonsense!" was Esther's mental comment as she put the
matter determinedly out of mind.

It was much later in the afternoon, nearly six o'clock, when Lady
Clifford returned in the Rolls. Esther heard her come upstairs and go
to her room, but she did not see her, being busy making Sir Charles
ready for the night. When it came time to take the old man's
temperature she discovered her watch had stopped for want of winding.
She went into the boudoir to look at the clock on the mantelpiece
there, throwing open the door, feeling sure the room was empty.

The next instant she heard herself murmuring "I beg your pardon!" as
she retreated hastily, utterly flabbergasted by what she had seen.

Standing bolt upright on the hearthrug was Roger, his arms awkwardly
embracing Lady Clifford, who leaned against him, her golden head
pressed close to his shoulder, her eyes gazing up at him with every
evidence of clinging affection.

What in heaven's name did it mean?

CHAPTER XXI

One of the habits of men most annoying to the opposite sex is their
reluctance to give explanations.

When one is eager to know the reasons why they did or failed to do a
thing, instead of satisfying one's curiosity they go quietly away and
say nothing. Women in the same position itch to justify, to excuse, to
exonerate. Men keep silent and let one think what one pleases--a form
of moral cowardice which remains at once their weakness and their
strength.

Why Roger should not immediately hasten to explain the attitude