“May I take your pulse?” said Tudor.

She gave him her hand in the same tired fashion.  He took it gravely, feeling her pulse, his eyes upon her face.

“Have you no relations of your own?” he asked her suddenly.

She shook her head.  “No one near.  My parents were both only children.”

“And no friends?” he said.

“Only Mrs. Lorimer.  I lost sight of people when I married.  And then—­” Avery halted momentarily “after my baby girl died, for a long time I didn’t seem to care for making new friends.”

“Ah!” said Tudor, his tone unwontedly gentle.  “You will soon have another child to care for now.”

She made a slight gesture as of protest.  “Do you know I can’t picture it?  I do not feel that it will be so.  I believe one of us—­or both—­will die.”

She spoke calmly, so calmly that even Tudor, with all his experience, was momentarily shocked.  “Avery!” he said sharply.  “You are morbid!”

She looked at him then with her tired eyes.  “Am I?” she said.  “I really don’t feel particularly sad—­only worn out.  When anyone has been burnt—­badly burnt—­it destroys the nerve tissues, doesn’t it?  They don’t suffer after that has happened.  I think that is my case.”

“You will suffer,” said Tudor.

He spoke brutally; he wanted to rouse her from her lethargy, to pierce somehow that dreadful calm.

But he failed; she only faintly smiled.

“I can bear bodily suffering,” she said, “particularly if it leads to freedom and peace.”

He got up as if it were he who had been pierced.  “You won’t die!” he said harshly.  “I won’t let you die!”

Her eyes went back to the fire, as if attracted thereto irresistibly.  “Most of me died last August,” she said in a low voice.

“You are wrong!” He stood over her almost threateningly.  “When you hold your child in your arms you will see how wrong.  Tell me, when is your husband coming back to you?”

That reached her.  She looked up at him with a quick hunted look.  “Never!” she said.

He looked back at her mercilessly.  “Never is a long time, Lady Evesham.  Do you think he will be kept at arm’s length when you are through your trouble?  Do you think—­whatever his sins—­that he has no claim upon you?  Mind, I don’t like him.  I never did and I never shall.  But you—­you are sworn to him.”

He had never spoken so to her before.  She flinched as if he had struck her with a whip.  She put her hands over her face, saying no word.

He stood for a few moments stern, implacable, looking down at her.  Then very suddenly his attitude changed.  His face softened.  He stooped and touched her shoulder.

“Avery!” His voice was low and vehement; he spoke into her ear.  “When you first kicked him out, I was mean enough to feel glad.  But I soon saw—­that he took all that is vital in you with him.  Avery,—­my dear,—­for God’s sake—­have him back!”