Avery was silent.

He went on with gathering force.  “I went to him once, Mrs. Denys,—­once only—­about his wife’s health.  I told him in plain language that she needed every care, every consideration, that without these she would probably lose all her grip on life and become a confirmed invalid with shattered nerves.  I was very explicit.  I told him the straight, unvarnished truth.  I didn’t like my job, but I felt it must be done.  And he—­good man—­laughed in my face, begged me to croak no more, and assured me that he was fully capable of managing all his affairs, including his wife and family, in his own way.  He was touring in Switzerland when the last child was born.”

“Hound!” said Avery, in a low voice.

Tudor uttered a brief laugh, and abruptly quitted the subject.  “That little girl needs very careful watching, Mrs. Denys.  She should never be allowed to overtire herself, mentally or physically.  And if she should develop any untoward symptom, for Heaven’s sake don’t hesitate to send for me!  I shan’t blame you for being too careful.”

“I understand,” Avery said.

He flicked his horse’s ears, and the animal broke into a trot.

When Tudor spoke again, it was upon a totally different matter.  His voice was slightly aggressive as he said:  “That Evesham boy seems to be for ever turning up at the Vicarage now.  He’s an ill-mannered cub.  I wonder you encourage him.”

“Do I encourage him?” Avery asked.

He made a movement of irritation.  “He would scarcely be such a constant visitor if you didn’t.”

Avery smiled faintly and not very humorously in the darkness.  “It is Jeanie he comes to see,” she observed.

“Oh, obviously.”  Tudor’s retort was so ironical as to be almost rude.

She received it in silence, and after a moment he made a half-grudging amendment.

“He never showed any interest in Jeanie before, you know.  I don’t think she is the sole attraction.”

“No?” said Avery.

Her response was perfectly courteous, but so vague that it sounded to Lennox Tudor as if she were thinking of something else.  He clenched his hand hard upon the handle of his whip.

“People tolerate him for the sake of his position,” he said bitterly.  “But to my mind he is insufferable.  His father was a scapegrace, as everyone knows.  His mother was a circus girl.  And his grandmother—­an Italian—­was divorced by Sir Beverley before they had been married two years.”

“Oh!” Avery emerged from her vagueness and turned towards him.  “Lady Evesham was Italian, was she?  That accounts for his appearance, doesn’t it?  That air of the old Roman patrician about him; you must have noticed it?”

“He’s handsome enough,” admitted Tudor.

“Oh, very handsome,” said Avery.  “I should say that for that type his face was almost faultless.  I wondered where he got it from.  Sir Beverley is patrician too, but in a different way.”  She stopped to bow to a tall, gaunt lady at the side of the road.  “That is Miss Whalley.  Didn’t you see her?  I expect she has just come from the Vicarage.  She was going to discuss the scheme for the Christmas decorations with the Vicar.”