“He said he was so lonely,” pleaded Mrs. Lorimer gently.  “And after all it was what his grandfather wished,—­so he told me.”

Miss Whalley gave a high-bred species of snort.  “My dear Mrs. Lorimer, that young man would tell you anything.  Why, his grandfather was an inveterate woman-hater, as all the world knows.”

“I know,” agreed Mrs. Lorimer.  “That was really what made it so remarkable.  I assure you, Miss Whalley,—­Piers came to me only last night and told me with tears in his eyes—­that just at the last poor Sir Beverley said to him:  ’I believe you’ve pitched on the right woman after all, lad.  Anyway, she cares for you—­more than ordinary.  Marry her as quick as you can—­and my blessing on you both!’ They were almost the last words he spoke,” said Mrs. Lorimer, wiping her own eyes.  “I thought it was so dear of Piers to tell me.”

“No doubt,” sniffed Miss Whalley.  “He is naturally anxious to secure your goodwill.  But I wonder very much what point of view the dear Vicar takes of the matter.  If I mistake not, he took Mrs. Denys’s measure some time ago.”

“Did he?” said Mrs. Lorimer vaguely.

Miss Whalley looked annoyed.  The Vicar’s wife obviously lacked sufficient backbone to quarrel on the subject.  She was wont to say that she detested invertebrate women.

“I think the Vicar was not altogether surprised,” Mrs. Lorimer went on, in her gentle, conversational way.  “You see, Piers had been somewhat assiduous for some time.  I myself, however, did not fancy that dear Avery wished to encourage him.”

“Pooh!” said Miss Whalley.  “It was the chance of her life.”

A faint flush rose in Mrs. Lorimer’s face.  “She is a dear girl,” she said.  “I don’t know what I shall do without her.”

“The children are getting older now,” said Miss Whalley.  “Jeanie ought to be able to take her place to a very great extent.”

“My little Jeanie is not strong,” murmured Mrs. Lorimer.  “She does what she can, but her lessons tire her so.  She never has much energy left, poor child.  She has not managed to finish her holiday-task yet, and it occupies all her spare time.  I told the Vicar that I really did not think she was equal to it.  But—­” the sentence went into a heavy sigh, and further words failed.

“The Vicar is always very judicious with his children,” observed Miss Whalley.

“He does not err on the side of mercy,” said his wife pathetically.  “And he does not seem to realize that Jeanie lacks the vitality of the others,—­though how they ever got through their tasks I can’t imagine.  It must have been dear Avery’s doing.  She is a genius with children.  They all managed it but poor Jeanie.  How ever we shall get on without her I cannot think.”

“But she was under notice to go, I am told,” observed Miss Whalley.

“Yes,—­yes, I know.  But I had hoped that the Vicar might relent.  You see, she has been invaluable to us in so many ways.  However, I hope when she comes back that we shall see a great deal of her.  She is so good to the children and they adore her.”