Mrs. Marshall was beginning to expand—­a mark of high favour which she bestowed only upon the few.

Avery listened with respect, comfortably aware that by this simple means she was creating a good impression.  She was anxious to win the old dame to a benevolent frame of mind if possible, since to be thrown upon unwilling hospitality was the last thing she desired.

It was characteristic of her that she achieved her purpose.  When she returned to the parlour in Mrs. Marshall’s wake, she had completely won her hostess’s heart, a fact which Piers remarked on the instant.

“There’s magic in you,” he said to Avery, as she gave him his cup of tea.

“I prefer to call it common sense,” she answered.

She turned her attention at once to Jeanie, coaxing her to drink the tea though her utmost persuasion could not induce her to eat anything.  She was evidently suffering a good deal of pain, but she begged them not to trouble about her.  “Please have your tea, Aunt Avery!  I shall be quite all right.”

“Yes, Aunt Avery must certainly have some tea,” said Piers with determination, and he refused to touch his own until she had done so.

It was a relief to all three of them when the doctor’s dogcart was heard on the drive.  Avery rose at once and went to receive him.

Piers stretched a kindly arm behind the cushion that supported Jeanie’s head.  “Do you really want me to stay with you, little girl?” he asked.

Jeanie was very white, but she looked at him bravely.  “Do you mind?” she said.

His dark eyes smiled encouragement.  “No, of course I don’t mind if I can be of any use to you.  Tudor will probably want to kick me out, but if you have the smallest desire to keep me, I’ll stay.”

“You are kind,” said Jeanie very earnestly.  “I think it will help me to be brave if I may hold your hand.  You have such a strong hand.”

“It is entirely at your service,” said Piers.

He turned in his chair at the doctor’s entrance, without rising.  His attitude was decidedly dogged.  He looked as if he anticipated a struggle.

Dr. Tudor came in behind Avery.  He was a man of forty, curt of speech and short of temper, with eyes that gleamed shrewdly behind gold pince-nez.  He gave Piers a look that was conspicuously lacking in cordiality.

“Hullo!” he said.  “You here!”

“Yes, I’m here,” said Piers.

The doctor’s eyes passed him and went straight to the white face of the child on the sofa.  He advanced and bent over her.

“So you’ve had an accident, eh?” he said.

“Yes,” whispered Jeanie, pressing a little closer to Piers.

“What happened?”

“I think it was a rabbit-hole,” said Jeanie not very lucidly.

“Caught your foot and fell, I suppose?” said the doctor.  “Was that all?  Did you do any walking after it?”

“Oh no!” said Jeanie, with a shudder.  “Mr. Evesham carried me.”