"It is," she assented gravely, and turned back quietly to the fire, not offering to assist. A soft veil of reserve seemed to have descended upon her. She did not speak again until he had remedied the disaster and brought her some tea. Then, with absolute composure, she raised her eyes to his. "You were going to tell me something about Piers Evesham," she said. His eyes looked back into hers with a certain steeliness, as though they sought to penetrate her reserve. "I was," he said, after a moment, "though I don't suppose it will interest you very greatly. I had it from Miss Whalley, but I was not told the source of her information. Rumour says that the young man is engaged to Miss Ina Rose of Wardenhurst." "Oh, really?" said Avery. She took the cup he offered her with a hand that was perfectly steady, though she was conscious of the fact that her face was pale. "They are abroad, I think?" "Yes, in the Riviera." Tudor's eyes fell away from hers abruptly. "At least they have been. Someone said they were coming home." He stooped to put wood on the fire, and there fell a silence. Avery spoke after a moment. "No doubt he will be happier married." "I wonder," said Tudor. "I should say myself that he has the sort of temperament that is never satisfied. He's too restless for that. I don't think Miss Ina Rose is greatly to be envied." "Unless she loves him," said Avery. She spoke almost under her breath, her eyes upon the fire. Tudor, standing beside her with his elbow on the mantelpiece, was still conscious of that filmy veil of reserve floating between them. It chafed him, but it was too intangible a thing to tear aside. He waited therefore in silence, watching her face, the tender lines of her mouth, the sweet curves that in childhood must have made a perfect picture of happiness. She raised her eyes at length. "Dr. Tudor!" And then she realized his scrutiny, and a soft flush rose and overspread her pale face. She lifted her straight brows questioningly. And all in a moment Tudor found himself speaking,--not of his own volition, not the words he had meant to speak, but nervously, stammeringly, giving utterance to the thoughts that suddenly welled over from his soul. "I've been wanting to speak for ages. I couldn't get it out. But it's no good keeping it in, is it? I don't get any nearer that way. I don't want to vex you, make you feel uncomfortable. No one knows better than I that I haven't much to offer. But I can give you a home and--and all my love, if you will have it. It may seem a small thing to you, but it's bigger than the calf-love of an infant like young Evesham. I know he dared to let his fancy stray your way, and you see now what it was worth. But mine--mine isn't fancy." And there he stopped; for Avery had risen and was facing him in the firelight with eyes of troubled entreaty. "Oh, please," she said, "please don't go on!"