“Will he get in?” asked Crowther, still watching her with friendly appreciation in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know.  I expect so.  He gets most things that he sets his heart on.  His grandfather—­you knew Sir Beverley?—­was so anxious that he should enter Parliament.”

“Yes, I knew Sir Beverley,” said Crowther.  “He thought the world of Piers.”

“And Piers of him,” said Avery.

“Ah!  Was it a great blow to him when the old man died?”

“A very great blow,” she answered soberly.  “That was the main reason for our marrying so suddenly.  The poor boy was so lonely I couldn’t bear to think of him by himself in this great house.”

“He was very lucky to get you,” said Crowther gravely.

She smiled.  “I was lucky too.  Don’t you think so?  I never in my wildest dreams pictured such a home as this for myself.”

A great magnolia climbed the house behind her with creamy flowers that shed their lemon fragrance all about them.  Crowther compared her in his own mind to the wonderful blossoms.  She was so sweet, so pure, yet also in a fashion so splendid.

“I think it is a very suitable setting for you, Lady Evesham!” he said.

She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him.  “Do call me Avery!” she said.

“Thank you,” he answered, with a smile.  “It certainly seems more natural.  How long have you been in this home of yours, may I ask?”

“Only a fortnight,” she said, laughing.  “Our honeymoon took ten weeks.  Piers wanted to make it ten years; but the harvest was coming on, and I knew he ought to come back and see what was happening.  And then Mr. Ferrars resigned his seat, and it became imperative.  But isn’t it a beautiful place?” she ended.  “I felt overwhelmed by the magnificence of it at first, but I am getting used to it now.”

“A glorious place,” agreed Crowther.  “Piers must be very proud of it.  Have you begun to have many visitors yet?”

She shook her head.  “No, not many.  Nearly all the big people have gone to Scotland.  Piers says they will come later, but I shall not mind them so much then.  I shall feel less like an interloper by that time.”

“I don’t know why you should feel like that,” said Crowther.  Avery smiled.  “Well, all the little people think that I set out to catch Piers for his money and his title.”

“Does what the little people think have any weight with you?” asked Crowther.

She flushed faintly under the kindly directness of his gaze.  “Not really, I suppose.  But one can’t quite shake off the feeling of it.  There is the Vicar for instance.  He has never liked me.  He congratulates me almost every time we meet.”

“Evidently a cad,” commented Crowther in his quiet way.

Avery laughed a little.  She had always liked this man’s plain speech.  “He is not the only one,” she said.

“But you have friends—­real friends—­also?” he questioned.