u that before."

There was a faint murmured protest, then again the doctor's voice,
heavy and intolerant:

"Good God, woman, what possible difference can he make, or anyone else,
for that matter? You appear to overlook the fact that all is being
done for your husband that can be done. There is not the slightest
cause for alarm."

Another murmur, longer than before, then in a slightly modified tone,
though still dictatorial:

"I see no reason why you shouldn't sleep, but if you insist I will give
you something.... Here, one powder, not more, or I'll not be
answerable for the consequences.... And remember, don't come here
again. If you want me, send your maid for me. Good-night."

There was the faint sound of the door dosing, then silence. Esther
shut the window cautiously, so that her neighbour might not suspect he
had been overheard.

Exactly why she minded his knowing was not clear to her. There had
certainly been nothing wrong in the conversation. It was the doctor's
manner towards his employer that was strange, that was all. She found
herself puzzling about it after she was in bed. Her brain was very
active; she could not compose herself to sleep, though when she tried
to analyse her state of mind there seemed little to cause her vague
discomfort. She knew that many women made confidants of their medical
men; there was nothing surprising in Lady Clifford's unburdening
herself to Sartorius on the subject of her husband's will. The
overbearing familiarity with which the doctor treated her was harder to
understand, yet even there it was difficult to say there was anything
abnormal. It merely suggested that these two had known each other a
long time, had not, indeed, the formal relation of physician and
patient. Whatever the case, there was nothing one could definitely say
was wrong, yet...

"I don't in the least know why," she said to herself as she lay in bed,
"but I've got a feeling there is something queer going on in this
house--something--something _underhand_. There! I've said it."

Yet, admitting this, what could be wrong? Not surely anything to do
with Sir Charles's case, which was a straightforward affair? The
patient was progressing well, with every reasonable hope of recovery.
To the outward eye, at least, everything was smooth and normal....

Why was it she suddenly recalled an incident of many years back, dating
from her childhood in Manitoba? One of her sisters had played a t