“The child will grow up a positive dunce,” he had declared.

To which Tudor had brusquely rejoined, “What of it?”

But his word was law so far as Jeanie was concerned, and Mr. Lorimer had relinquished the point with the sigh of one submitting to the inevitable.  He did not like Lennox Tudor, but for some reason he always avoided an open disagreement with him.

It was of Jeanie that Avery was thinking as she stood there huddled against the railings while the sleet beat a fierce tattoo on her levelled umbrella and streamed from it in rivers on to the ground.  She even debated with herself if it seemed advisable to turn and enter the doctor’s dwelling, and try to get him to speak frankly of the matter as he had spoken once before.

She dismissed the idea, however, reflecting that he would most probably be out, and she was on the point of collecting her forces to make a rush for another sheltered spot further on when the front door opened unexpectedly behind her, and Tudor himself came forth bareheaded into the rain.

“What are you doing there, Mrs. Denys?” he said.  “Why don’t you come inside?”

He opened the gate for her, and took her parcels without waiting for a reply.  And Avery, still with her umbrella poised against the blast, smiled her thanks and passed in.

The hair grew far back on Tudor’s forehead, it was in fact becoming scanty on the top of his head; and the raindrops glistened upon it as he entered behind Avery.  He wiped them away, and then took off his glasses and wiped them also.

“Come into the dining-room!” he said.  “You are just in time to join me at tea.”

“You’re very kind,” Avery said.  “But I ought to hurry back the moment the rain lessens.”

“It won’t lessen yet,” said Tudor.  “Take off your mackintosh, won’t you?  I expect your feet are wet.  There’s a fire to dry them by.”

Certainly the storm showed no signs of abating.  The sky was growing darker every instant.  Avery slipped the streaming mackintosh from her shoulders and entered the room into which he had invited her.

The blaze on the hearth was cheering after the icy gale without.  She went to it, stretching her numbed hands to the warmth.

Tudor pushed forward a chair.  “I believe you are chilled to the bone,” he said.

She laughed at that.  “Oh no, indeed I am not!  But it is a cold wind, isn’t it?  Have you finished your work for to-day?”

Tudor foraged in a cupboard for an extra cup and saucer.  “No.  I’ve got to go out again later.  I’ve just come back from Miss Whalley’s.  She’s got a touch of jaundice.”

“Oh, poor thing!” said Avery.

“Yes; poor thing!” echoed Tudor grimly.  “She is very sorry for herself, I can assure you; but as full of gossip as ever.”  He paused.

Avery, with her face to the fire, laughed a little.  “Anything new?”

“Miss Whalley,” said Tudor deliberately, “always gets hold of something new.  Never noticed that?”