At the _gare_ next morning, Miss Clifford, having selected a likely
train, leaned forward in her brother's car and eagerly scanned each
arrival as he issued from the exit. What if Roger did not arrive after
all? These trains were so booked up at this season, he might not have
been able to secure a _wagon-lit_. Still, he usually managed things....
"Roger! Roger!" she shouted suddenly, so that at least half a dozen
travellers turned in her direction.
The young Englishman in the Harris tweed coat wheeled at the sound of
her voice, and reached the car in a dozen quick strides. He was
nearing thirty, tall, but less tall than Sir Charles, with features
similar but not so pronounced, and eyes intensely blue. He had his
father's humorous mouth modified and softened, and to the old man's
look of stubborn strength he added something which suggested more
imagination and sensitiveness. He appeared in excellent condition,
wiry and vigorous, his skin tanned from five days of sea and wind.
"Roger, darling!"
"Dido, my dear old girl!"
His bear-like embrace brought comfort to her heart. She held him off
at last and gazed on him with deep affection.
"This is good of you, auntie, to come and meet me. I didn't expect it."
"As if I wouldn't!"
She kissed him again warmly, and the nature of this second embrace
conveyed to him the knowledge that something was amiss.
"What's wrong, Dido? Anything happened?"
"It's your father, Roger--he's ill."
"Ill! Why didn't you cable?"
"I did, to your Chicago address, three days ago."
"It should have been Marconied to the boat. What's the matter with
him?"
"Typhoid fever, my dear. We've been rather distressed."
His face grew serious.
"Good God, that's bad!"
"Don't be too alarmed, he seems to have a mild case, thank heaven, and
naturally we are doing all that can be done for him. We've got two
splendid nurses, and a doctor who is giving us his entire time."
"What doctor is it?"
The chauffeur, having strapped the luggage to the back of the car, was
looking to them for instructions.
"What would you like to do, dear? Stop anywhere, or go straight home?"
"Oh, home. I want to see the old man."
In a twinkling they had left the _gare_ and were heading for the
heights."
"What luck to be here!" exclaimed the young man with a luxurious sigh.
"I had hoped to get a fortnight later on, but as things have turned out
I finished up much sooner than I thought I should. I found I could get
a passage on the _Berengaria_, and I can tell you I didn't waste much
time saying good-bye. Out where I've been, in the West, it's ten below
zero, with the wind cutting like a knife. People can abuse the Riviera
all they like, but after that sort of thing it seems like Heaven."
He glanced out at the town appreciatively, throwing back his coat.
Then he turned again to his aunt.
"I thought you always had Cromer when you wanted any doctoring?" he
said.
"So we did, but he got so very fashionable we felt he didn't give us
much attention. Too many kings and queens, you know! Then we heard of
this other man through Captain Holliday. You remember Arthur Holliday?"
"Do I not?"
Her nephew made a slight grimace.
"Oh, I know you never cared for him, but this is quite apart from
anything personal. You see, when Arthur was so terribly damaged from
that last smash of his, he met this Dr. Sartorius out in Algeria. He
was absolutely a wreck; none of the doctors who had seen him could do
anything more for him. Well, this doctor took hold of him,
experimented on him, and really made him over. I'm not exaggerating,
the result was a miracle, everyone will tell you so. It was enough to
give one enormous confidence in the man."
"Well, I'm glad you've got him."
"Yes, I'm thankful. He's unattractive to meet, indeed he is rather an
odd, cold-blooded creature--a scientist mainly--but what does that
matter if he is really so able?"
Roger nodded. Then, after a pause, he inquired casually, but in a
faintly altered tone:
"And how is She?"
"Thérèse?" his aunt returned, understanding at once. "I was going to
tell you. Do you know she has been so charming lately, that I am
beginning quite to like her?"
"No!"
He raised incredulous eyebrows.
"It's true. Her whole disposition is improved. She is so changed that
except for just a little petulance now and then, which I'm sure she
doesn't mean, she's--she's---- But you'll see for yourself."
"I can't believe it."
"I knew you wouldn't. But you'll see. She is nicer to Charles than
she has ever been since just at the first."
"I am astonished! How long has she been so angelic?"
"Let me see--oh, about two months, I believe."
"Not very long, then."
"It began before Christmas. Before that we had a dreadful time. She
and your father had a frightful quarrel. I wish I hadn't been there!
She did most of the quarrelling, of course; he was merely firm, but for
all that I have never seen him angrier. There were terrible scenes, so
embarrassing. One hates so to have the servants get to know about
these things, and really they couldn't help knowing."
"What was it all about? Do you know?"
"Oh, yes, I know. It was about the amount of money Thérèse had been
spending. It seems your father suddenly for some reason took it into
his head to go through her pass-book. Apparently he was horrified at
the frequent large sums she was drawing to herself--oh, not for
dressmakers or anything of that sort. Naturally he asked what she was
doing with all that money, and eventually it came out she had been
losing it at baccarat."
"Baccarat!"
"Well, you know your father has never much approved of gambling, beyond
what he calls a mild flutter; so when he found she was throwing away
several thousands a year----"
"As much as that?"
"I believe so. I never heard the exact amount, but it was staggering,
that much I know. At any rate, he put a stop to it at once. He went
carefully into all her legitimate expenses, and the result was he made
her a fixed allowance--oh, a generous one--he has never been mean with
her--only if she wants more, he must be told what it's for."
"Good boy!" murmured Roger with approval. "So of course she was in a
devil of a rage?"
"Devil expresses it rather well, I'm afraid, Roger. I've only seen one
other person so violent, and that was an Irish cook we had before you
were born, who drank raw spirit out of the bottle. As for Thérèse, she
stormed first, then she wept, and was pathetic, then she raged again.
Altogether she must have tried everything, but you know what your
father is like when he takes a stand. At last she shut herself up in
her room and sent for the doctor. She declared she was ill, and
threatened going into a nursing home. After a few days, however, she
came to herself, very subdued, but much more pleasant and anxious to
please. I can't help thinking she might have been better all along if
Charles hadn't spoiled her so, if from the start he had taken a firmer
hand."
Roger frowned a little dubiously.
"A woman, a spaniel and a walnut tree----" he murmured. "At any rate,
I am very glad for the old man's sake, and yours, too!"
"Yes, as you know, I would never stay here if your father didn't insist
on it, but now it is much more agreeable; there is scarcely any
friction. She seems far less self-centred. Why, to give you one
little instance; earlier in the winter your father was ordered to drink
milk between meals. We had special milk in sealed bottles, and we kept
it upstairs in a small refrigerator. I always opened the bottles
myself and gave it to Charles at the right times--you know I have
always attended to that sort of thing. But one day Thérèse came to me
and asked if she might see to it herself. She said she felt she would
like to do something for him. Of course I was delighted, so she has
done it ever since. Still, it was unlike her, wasn't it?"
"Very," assented her nephew dryly, while his face grew a little more
thoughtful. "Indeed, I feel almost inclined to question her motives.
Don't you suppose this is just another attempt to get round him?
'_Timeo Danaos_,' you know."
Miss Clifford shook her head.
"I never studied Greek," she said, "but I am sure you are unjust."
Roger gave a rapturous chuckle and squeezed her plump hand in his.
"Never mind. 'Kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith
than Norman blood'--you know that quotation, don't you?"
"Certainly, though I scarcely see how it applies to Thérèse."
"It doesn't," retorted Roger, laughing anew. Then more seriously, "You
spoke of Arthur Holliday. Is he still on the tapis?"
"Oh, we see a good deal of him, although I believe he's considering a
position that's been offered him in the Argentine. He came recently to
ask Charles's advice about accepting it."
"The Argentine! He must have pulled a wonderful bluff with someone."
"Yes! I've never known him do anything serious. Yet he always appears
to have money. He runs a car, dresses well and lives at a first-rate
hotel."
"One of Life's little mysteries," commented the young man with a shake
of the head. "I would like to know how these gentlemen of leisure
manage. I always have to pay my hotel hills, or I would be put out,
but not these fellows. Oh, no! There's some magic about them--no
known means of support, yet they live like princes. There's one in
Manchester now--he was up at Cambridge with me, I regret to say. The
fact's cost me a good deal first and last. He comes regularly to
borrow money and keeps a taxi ticking up outside for an hour while he's
waiting to see me. Oh, he's to the manor born, just like Arthur
Holliday. I take off my hat to them both."
Miss Clifford laughed tolerantly.
"What you say is quite true. In the ordinary way no one despises that
type more heartily than your father, but he can't forget that Arthur
was Malcolm's great friend, and for that reason he has a soft spot in
his heart for him. Arthur comes and talks to him about the war and
Malcolm's bravery, and you know what that means to Charles. And then
of course he amuses Thérèse, who, after all, doesn't get much fun, poor
girl."
Before they realised it the car was swerving into the drive of the
Villa Firenze, whose door stood wide open, framing the butler's
precise, black-clad figure. At sight of him Roger's eye lit up.
"Well, well, Chalmers my lad, how are you? You're looking fairly fit."
Chalmers's wooden face relaxed into so broad a smile as to reveal what
was rarely seen, a missing tooth in the upper story. He greeted the
young man with evident pleasure.
"And so are you looking fit yourself, Mr. Roger, in the very pink, if I
may say so, sir. Had a good crossing, sir?"
"Rotten, thanks. I'm as covered with bruises as it I'd been having a
round with Tunney. Same room, I suppose?"
"Same room, sir. I'll bring up your bags."
With an arm round the ample figure of his aunt, Roger mounted the
stairs.
"I'll wash up a bit, and then do you think I'll be allowed to have a
word with the old man?"
"I'm sure you will. He is eager to see you and to hear your news. I
hope it is good."
"It is; it is absolutely one hundred per cent. good, as they would say
on the other side. I----"
Here he broke off, for, on reaching the top of the staircase, he
suddenly caught sight of a young and trim-looking girl of pleasing
appearance, clad in a uniform of primrose-yellow, with white apron and
cap. She issued from his father's bedroom with an enamelled basin in
her hand, smiled at Miss Clifford for a brief instant, and rapidly
vanished down the hall towards the back stairs. The glimpse was a
short one, yet it was sufficient to disclose the facts of clear, very
child-like hazel eyes, fresh dashes of colour in the cheeks, and an
exceedingly shapely pair of ankles and legs. Roger remained spellbound
on the top step for so long a space that his aunt turned back to
discover the cause.
"That's your day-nurse, I take it?" he asked.
"Yes, such a nice girl, who has been working for the doctor. She only
arrived here yesterday, but I am sure she is an excellent nurse."
"I'm sure she's an excellent dancer," remarked her nephew with the
grave air of a connoisseur. "I wonder if she has any free time?"
The old lady looked slightly puzzled. There were so many times when
she could not be quite sure whether Roger was in earnest or not.
"Come along," she chid him, pinching his ear gently, "I suppose, as
usual, you are trying to pull my leg!"