The girl’s downcast eyes flashed up to his, startlingly blue.

“No.  I would not.  I love her.  I would tell all the fibs in the world to help her.  But all the time I should have a queer idea that I was doing wrong.  It would be common sense against instinct.”

“Against prejudice,” he corrected.  “The prejudice which always insists that truth consists in a form of words.”

They were now in the cool green light of the living room.  Esther stood with her back to the table, leaning slightly backward, supporting herself by one hand.  She looked tired.  There were shadows under her eyes.  The doctor felt an impulse of irritation against the absent mother who let the girl outwear her strength.

“My advice to you is not to worry,” he said abruptly.  “You are tired.  More tired than a young girl of your age ought to be.  You cannot teach those imps of Satan—­I mean those charming children—­all day and come back to home cares at night.  Will it be possible for me to speak to Mrs. Coombe before I go?”

Watching her keenly he saw that now he had touched the real cause of the trouble.

“I am sorry,” began Esther, but meeting his look, the prim words of conventional excuse halted.  A little smile curled the end of her lips and she added, “Since she went out purposely to escape you, it is not likely.”

“Your mother went out to escape me?” in surprise.

“In your capacity of doctor only.  You see,” with a certain childish naivete, “she hasn’t seen you yet.  And mother dislikes doctors very much.  Oh!” with a hot blush, “you will think we are a queer family, all of us!”

“It is not at all queer to dislike doctors,” he answered her cheerfully.  “I dislike them myself.  At the very best they are necessary evils.”

“Indeed no!  And when one is ill it seems so foolish—­”

“Is Mrs. Coombe ill?”

“I don’t know.  I think so.  She has headaches.  She is not at all like herself.  I hoped so much that you would meet her this afternoon, and then she—­she went out!”

“And this is really what is troubling you, and not Aunt Amy?”

“Yes.  You see, Aunt Amy has been quite all right until the last two days.  But mother—­that has been troubling us a long time.”

“How long?”

“Almost since father died—­a year ago.”

“But—­don’t you think that if Mrs. Coombe were really ill her prejudice would disappear?  People do not suffer from choice, usually.”

“No.  That is just what puzzles me!” She did indeed look puzzled, very puzzled and very young.

“If I could help you in any way?” suggested Callandar.  “You may be worrying quite needlessly.”

“Do people ever consult you about their mothers behind their mother’s back?”

“Often.  Why not?”

“Only that it doesn’t seem natural.  Grown-up people—­”

“Are often just as foolish as anybody else!”