but he was not
displeased.

Perhaps, thought Esther, she was mistaken after all in regard to Lady
Clifford's sentiments towards her husband. She could not, of course,
be supposed to be wildly in love with him, but she undoubtedly did
appear to be fond of him, even though her feeling might be that of a
daughter for a father. At any rate, when it came to the point, she
seemed genuinely concerned over the idea of his being ill. Most
likely, in common with many very emotional women, she dramatised and
exaggerated her slightest feeling, professing far more than she meant.
This would easily explain that conversation at the tea-table. She
might have meant all she said at the time, but she had probably
forgotten it completely by now.

Waving aside all offers of assistance, Sir Charles made his way slowly
to the car. His sister let him go ahead, then halting on the doorstep,
took hold of Esther's arm confidentially. "One moment, nurse," she
said in an undertone, "I'd like to ask you something. Tell me frankly,
do you think the doctor saw anything alarming in my brother's symptoms?"

Her plain, pleasant face was puckered with anxiety, her eyes searched
Esther's.

"Why, no, I honestly think he meant what he said, that it is too soon
to tell anything definite."

"I wonder! Doctors are all alike, they never give anything away," and
she frowned thoughtfully. "I daresay you think me foolish, but the
fact is I am extremely apprehensive. You see, I'm afraid it may be
typhoid."

"Typhoid!"

Esther could only repeat the word, unwilling to admit that the same
suspicion had occurred to her.

"Yes, there's a great deal of it about the Riviera this season, as you
may know."

"I've heard so."

"There have been several cases quite close to us, and one actually in
the house, one of the maids. She went down with it four weeks ago, and
has had a severe case. She's in a nursing home now. An attack of
typhoid as violent as that would probably prove fatal to a man of my
brother's age and in his state of health--for he hasn't been at all
strong for several years. So you can understand how I--how we--feel
about it."

With an impulse of sympathy Esther grasped the gloved hand on her arm
and gave it a warm squeeze.

"You mustn't think such things," she admonished earnestly. "It may be
nothing at all serious, over-fatigue, a slight cold. Besides, typhoid
fever needn't be fatal, even at his age."

The elder woman's face