saw the doctor, his bald head lowered, his
small eyes regarding them in a sort of dull, tentative way.

"No, thanks, doctor, I've just finished.... You didn't want me for
anything, did you?"

It struck her he had something on his mind.

"Not at the moment."

He came into the room slowly, his eyes roving about as if in search of
something, now dwelling on the table, now on the mantelpiece, now on
the Louis XV commode. Then in the same preoccupied manner he went out
again.

"What an odd man!" Miss Clifford remarked with a smile. "You'd have
thought it natural to ask how Roger came to cut his hand, wouldn't you?"

But Esther knew how little the insignificant detail of life interested
Sartorius; his indifference no longer struck her as strange. Firmly
she tied the last knot about Roger's wrist.

"You'll have to keep that on and try not to get it wet," she cautioned
him.

"And how do you suggest I'm going to take a bath?"

"You'll have to manage with a shower, or else get Chalmers to rub you
down like a horse," she told him gaily.

As she began putting away her rolls of gauze a thoughtful look came
over her face.

"You know, I wonder if the doctor did want something? I shouldn't like
to offend him."

"See here," said Roger decidedly, "you waste a good deal too much
energy bothering about that man's opinion. Tell him to go to hell."

"And where should I be?" she laughed spontaneously.

"Catching the first train out of Cannes, I suppose."

"No, I'm dashed if you would! Not if I had any say."

She looked up, thrilled by his warmth, and saw his laughing eyes grow
serious as they dwelt on her. In that instant she had a certain
knowledge that only his aunt's presence in the room prevented his
kissing her.

There was a mist before her eyes and her breath came quickly as she
went about her tasks. She recalled the odour of Roger's tweed clothing
mingled with the indescribable masculine scent of his skin, and the
memory caused her a thrill of joyous excitement. She began to believe
that he did care for her. Oh, if only he really cared, if it wasn't
the light sort of thing a man so easily feels and so readily forgets!

When she returned to the bedroom she noticed the doctor, with his back
turned to her, standing by the window and rummaging through his black
leather bag. At once she got a feeling of something wrong. The very
lines of his figure suggested tension. Was he disturbed about
something?