“Oh, have you?” Avery looked round quickly.  “You went to see Jeanie?”

“Yes.”  Tudor spoke gravely.  “I also saw the Vicar.  I told him the child must go away.  That cough of hers is tearing her to pieces.  She ought to go to the South Coast.  I told him so.”

“Oh!  What did he say?” Avery spoke with eagerness.  She had been longing to suggest that very proposal for some time past.

Tudor smiled into his cup.  “He said it was a total impossibility.  That was the starting-point.  At the finish it was practically decided that you should take her away next week.”

“I!” said Avery.

“Yes, you.  Mrs. Lorimer will manage all right now.  The nurse can look after her and the little ones without assistance.  And the second girl—­Olive isn’t it?—­can look after the Reverend Stephen.  It’s all arranged in fact, unless it fails to meet with your approval, in which case of course the whole business must be reconsidered.”

“But of course I approve,” Avery said.  “I would do anything that lay in my power.  But I don’t quite like the idea of leaving Mrs. Lorimer.”

“She will be all right,” Tudor asserted again.  “She wouldn’t be happy away from her precious husband, and she would sooner have you looking after Jeanie than anyone.  She told me so.”

“She always thinks of others first,” said Avery.

“So does someone else I know,” rejoined Tudor.  “It’s just a habit some women have,—­not always a good habit from some points of view.  We may regard it as settled then, may we?  You really have no objections to raise?”

“None,” said Avery.  “I think the idea is excellent.  I have been feeling troubled about Jeanie nearly all the winter.  This last cold has worn her out terribly.”

Tudor nodded.  “Yes.”

He drank his tea thoughtfully, and then spoke again.  “I sounded her this afternoon.  The left lung is not in a healthy condition.  She will need all the attention you can give her if she is going to throw off the mischief.  It has not gone very far at present, but—­to be frank with you—­I am very far from satisfied that she can muster the strength.”  He got up and began to pace the room.  “I have not said this plainly to anyone else.  I don’t want to frighten Mrs. Lorimer before I need.  The poor soul has enough to bear without this added.  Possibly the change will work wonders.  Possibly she will pull round.  Children have marvellous recuperative powers.  But I have seen this sort of thing a good many times before, and—­” he came back to the hearth—­“it doesn’t make me happy.”

“I am glad you have told me,” Avery said.

“I had to tell you.  I believe you more than half suspected it.”  Tudor spoke restlessly; his thoughts were evidently not of his companion at that moment.  “There are of course a good many points in her favour.  She is a good, obedient child with a placid temperament.  And the summer is before us.  We shall have to work hard this summer, Mrs. Denys.”  He smiled at her abruptly.  “It is like building a sea-wall when the tide is out.  We’ve got to make it as strong as possible before the tide comes back.”