To which Avery responded.  “Thank you.  Please stay!”

She said it for Jeanie’s sake, since it was evident that the child was sustaining herself on the man’s strength, but the look Piers flashed her made her a little doubtful as to the wisdom of her action.  She realized that it might not be easy to keep him at arm’s length after this.

Piers turned back to Jeanie.  “Very well, I’ll stay,” he said, “anyhow till Tudor comes along.  Let’s see!  You’re the eldest girl, aren’t you?  I ought to know you by name, but somehow my memory won’t run to it.”

He could not as a matter of fact remember that he had ever spoken to any of the young Lorimers before, though by sight he was well acquainted with them.

Jeanie, in whose eyes he had ever shone as a knight of romance, murmured courteously that no one ever remembered them all by name.

“Well, I shall remember you anyhow,” said Piers.  “Queenie is it?”

“No,—­Jeanie.”

“I shall call you Queenie,” he said.  “It sounds more imposing.  Now won’t you let me just slit off that boot?  I can do it without hurting you.”

“Slit it!” said Jeanie, shocked.

“We shan’t get it off without,” said Piers.  “What do you think about it, Mrs. Denys?”

“I will unfasten the lace first,” Avery said.

This she proceeded to do while Piers occupied Jeanie’s attention with a success which a less dominant personality could scarcely have achieved.

But when it came to removing the boot he went to Avery’s assistance.  It was no easy matter but they accomplished it between them, Piers ruthlessly cutting the leather away from the injured ankle which by that time was badly swollen.  They propped it on a cushion, and made her as comfortable as circumstances would allow.

“Can’t that old woman make you some tea?” Piers said then, beginning to chafe at the prospect of an indefinite period of inaction.

“I think she is boiling her kettle now,” Avery answered.

Piers grunted.  He fidgeted to the window and back, and then, finding Jeanie’s eyes still mutely watching him, he pulled up a chair to her side and took the slender hand again into his own.

Avery turned her attention to coaxing the fire to burn, and presently went out to Mrs. Marshall in her kitchen to offer her services there.  She was graciously permitted to cut some bread and butter while the old woman prepared a tray.

“I suppose it was Master Piers’ fault,” the latter remarked with severity.  “He’s always up to some mischief or other.”

Avery hastened to assure her that upon this occasion Piers was absolutely blameless and had been of the utmost assistance to them.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Marshall.  “He’s a feckless young gentleman, and I often think as he’s like to bring the old master’s hairs with sorrow to the grave.  Sir Beverley do set such store by him, always did from the day he brought him back from his dead mother in Paris, along with that French valet who carried him like as if he’d been a parcel of goods.  He’s been brought up by men from his cradle, miss, and it hasn’t done him any good.  But there!  Sir Beverley is that set against all womenkind there’s no moving him.”