But Avery’s face was turned away.  “I can’t help it,” she said.  “I can’t—­possibly—­see him again.  I feel as if—­as if there were a curse upon us both, and that is why the baby died.  Oh yes, morbid, I know; perhaps wrong.  But—­I have been steeped in sin.  I must be free for a time.  I can’t face him yet.  I haven’t the strength.”

“Dearest, he will never force himself upon you,” said Mrs. Lorimer.

Avery’s eyes went instinctively to the door that led into the room that Piers had occupied after his marriage.  The broken bolt had been removed, but not replaced.  A great shudder went through her.  She covered her face with her hands.

“Oh, beg him—­beg him to go away,” she sobbed, “till I am strong enough to go myself!”

Argument was useless.  Mrs. Lorimer abandoned it with the wisdom born of close friendship.  Instead, she clasped Avery tenderly to her and gave herself to the task of calming her distress.

And when that was somewhat accomplished, she left her to go sadly in search of Piers.

She found him sitting on the terrace with the morning-paper beside him and Caesar pressed close to his legs, his great mottled head resting on his master’s knee.

He was not reading.  So much Mrs. Lorimer perceived before with a sharp turn of the head he discovered her.  He was on his feet in a moment, and she saw his boyish smile for an instant, only for an instant, as he came to meet her.  She noted with a pang how gaunt he looked and how deep were the shadows about his eyes.  Then he had reached her, and was holding both her hands almost before she realized it.

“I say, you’re awfully good to come up every day like this,” he said.  “I can’t think how you make the time.  Splendid sun to-day, what?  It’s like a day in summer, if you can get out of the wind.  Come and bask with me!”

He drew her along the terrace to his sheltered corner, and made her sit down, spreading his newspaper on the stone seat for her accommodation.  Her heart went out to him as he performed that small chivalrous act.  She could not help it.  And suddenly the task before her seemed so monstrous that she felt she could not fulfil it.  The tears rushed to her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” said Piers gently.  He sat down beside her, and slipped an encouraging hand through her arm.  “Was it something you came out to say?  Don’t mind me!  You don’t, do you?”

His voice was softly persuasive.  He leaned towards her, his dark eyes searching her face.  Mrs. Lorimer felt as if she were about to hurt a child.

She blew her nose, dried her eyes, and took the brown hand very tightly between her own.  “My dear, I’m so sorry for you—­so sorry for you both!” she said.

A curious little glint came and went in the eyes that watched her.  Piers’ fingers closed slowly upon hers.

“I’ve got to clear out, what?” he said.

She nodded mutely; she could not say it.