“I’m afraid I’m very wicked,” sighed Mrs. Lorimer.  “I’m very thankful to have you with us, dear.  I don’t know what I should do without you.”

Avery’s pretty mouth took an unfamiliar curve of grimness for a moment, but she banished it at once.  She slipped a sustaining hand through Mrs. Lorimer’s arm.

“Thank you for saying so, though, you know, I’ve only been with you a fortnight, and I don’t feel that I have done very much to deserve such high praise.”

“I don’t think time has much to do with friendship,” said Mrs. Lorimer, looking at her with genuine affection in her faded blue eyes.  “Do you know I became engaged to my husband before I had known him a fortnight?”

But this was a subject upon which Avery found it difficult to express any sympathy, and she gently changed it.  “You are looking very tired.  Don’t you think you could lie down for a little in your bedroom before supper?”

“I must see the poor boys first,” protested Mrs. Lorimer.

“Yes, of course.  We will go straight up, shall we?”

She led her to the door with the words, and they went out together into the hall.  As they emerged, a sudden burst of stormy crying came from the study.  Pat was literally howling at the top of his voice.

His mother stopped and wrung her hands.  “Oh, what is to be done?  He always cries like that.  He used to as a baby—­the only one of them who did.  Mrs. Denys, what shall I do?  I don’t think I can bear it.”

Avery drew her on towards the stairs.  “My dear, come away!” she said practically.  “You can’t do anything.  Interference will only make matters worse.  Let us go right up to the boys’ room!  Pat is sure to come up directly.”

They went to the boys’ room.  It was a large attic in which the three elder boys slept.  Ronald and Julian, aged fifteen and fourteen respectively, were both lying prostrate on their beds.

Julian uttered a forced laugh at the sight of his mother’s face.  “My dear Mater, for Heaven’s sake don’t come fussing round here!  We’ve been smoking some filthy cigars—­little beastly Brown dared us to—­and there’s been the devil to pay.  I can’t get up.  My tummy won’t let me.”

“Oh, Julian, why do you do it?” said Mrs. Lorimer, in great distress.  “You know what your father said the last time.”

She bent over him.  Julian was her favourite of them all.  But he turned his face sharply to avoid her kiss.

“Don’t, Mater!  I don’t feel up to it.  I can’t jaw either.  I believe those dashed cigars were poisoned.  Hullo, Ronald, are you quieting down yet?”

“Shut up!” growled Ronald.

His brother laughed again sardonically.  “Stick to it, my hearty!  There’s a swishing in store for us.  The mater always gives the show away.”

“Julian!” It was Avery’s voice; she spoke with quick decision.  “You’ve got exactly an hour—­you and Ronald—­to pull yourselves together.  Don’t lie here any longer!  Get up and go out!  Go for a hard walk!  No, of course you don’t feel like it.  But it will do you good.  You want to get that horrible stuff out of your lungs.  Quick!  Go now—­while you can!”