It was really funny when you came to think of it, because there wasn't anything to see or even feel--except a little cough--and getting rather hot in the evenings, but after Travers had finished pitching into him Winn had written to Lionel and made his will and had rather wondered what Estelle would feel about it. He hadn't wanted to upset her. He hadn't upset her. She stared at him for a moment; then she said: "How odd! You look perfectly all right. I never have believed in Travers." Winn mentioned the name of the big man. "It does sound rather rot," he added apologetically. He still waited. Estelle moved restlessly on the sofa. "Well," she said, "what on earth am I to do? It's really horribly inconvenient. I suppose I shall have to go back to my people for the winter unless you can afford to let me take a flat in London." "I'm afraid I can't afford that," said Winn. "I think it would be best for you to go to your people for the winter, unless, of course, you'd rather go to mine. I'm going down there to-morrow; I've written to tell them. I must get my father to let me have some money as it is. It's really an infernal nuisance from the expense point of view." "I couldn't go to your people," said Estelle, stiffly. "They have never been nice to me; besides, they would be sure to teach baby how to swear." Then she added, "I suppose this puts an end to your going to India." Winn dropped his eyes. "Yes," he said, "this puts an end to my going back to India for the present. I've been up before the board; they're quite agreeable. In fact, they've been rather decent to me." Estelle gave a long sigh of relief and gratitude. It was really extraordinary how she had been helped to avoid India. She couldn't think what made Winn go on sitting there, just playing with the paper-knife. He sat there for a long time, but he didn't say any more. At last he got up and went to the door. "Well," he said, "I think I'll just run up and have a look at the kid." "Poor dear," said Estelle, "I'm frightfully sorry for you, of course, though I don't believe it's at all painful--and by the way, Winn, don't forget that consumption is infectious." He stopped short as if someone had struck him. After all, he didn't go to the nursery; she heard him go down the passage to the smoking-room instead. CHAPTER VIII Sir Peter was having his annual attack of gout. Staines Court appeared at these times like a ship battened down and running before a storm. Figures of pale and frightened maids flickered through the long passage-ways. The portly butler violently ejected from the dining-room had been seen passing swiftly through the hall, with the ungainly movement of a prehistoric animal startled from its lair. The room in which Sir Peter sat burned with his language. Eddies of blasphemous sound rushed out and buffeted the landings like a rising gale.