when I was
undressing, and you were busy in the mater's room, so I thought I'd keep
them safe till to-morrow. I hope they are not important," he added.

"I don't suppose so," said Avery; yet her heart jerked oddly as she
slipped them into her dress. "Thank you for taking care of them. I must
be going now. You are going to be good?"

She looked at Julian, who, still feeling generous, thrust a rough, boyish
arm about her neck and kissed her.

"You're a trump!" he said. "There! Good-night! I'll be as meek as Moses
in the morning."

It was a definite promise, and Avery felt relieved. She took leave of
Ronald more ceremoniously. His scrupulous politeness demanded it. And
then with feet that felt strangely light, considering her fatigue, she
ran softly down again to Mrs. Lorimer's room.

In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read her letters. One of
them--the one with the Australian stamp, characteristically brief but
kind--was to tell her that the writer, a friend of some standing, was
coming to England, and hoped to see her again ere long.

The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the table unopened
till she was undressed and ready to join Mrs. Lorimer. Then--for the
first time in all that weary day of turmoil--Avery stole a few moments
of luxury.

She sat down and opened Piers' letter.

It began impetuously, without preliminary. "I wonder whether you have any
idea what it costs to clear out without a word of farewell. Perhaps you
are even thinking that I've forgotten. Or perhaps it matters so little to
you that you haven't thought at all. I know you won't tell me, so it's
not much good speculating. But lest you should misunderstand in any way,
I want to explain that I haven't been fit to come near you since we
parted on Christmas Eve. You were angry with me then, weren't you? Avery
in a temper! Do you remember how it went? At least you meant to be, but
somehow you didn't get up the steam. You wished me a happy Christmas
instead, and I ought to have had one in consequence. But I didn't. I
played the giddy goat off and on all day long, and my grandfather--dear
old chap--thought what a merry infant I was. But--you've heard of the
worm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched? The Reverend
Stephen has taken care of that. Do you remember his 'penny-terrible' of a
Sunday or two ago? You were very angry about it, Avery. I love you when
you're angry. And how he dilated on the gates of brass