It was the Reverend Stephen Lorimer’s custom to have all letters that arrived by the morning post placed beside his breakfast plate to be sorted by him at the end of family prayers,—­a custom which Gracie freely criticized in the sanctuary of the schoolroom, and which her mother in earlier days had gently and quite ineffectually tried to stop.  It was always a somewhat lengthy proceeding as it entailed a careful scrutiny of each envelope, especially in the case of letters not addressed to the Reverend Stephen.  He was well acquainted with the handwriting of all his wife’s correspondents, and was generally ready with some shrewd guess as to their motives for writing.  They were usually submitted to him for perusal as soon as she had read them herself, a habit formed by Mrs. Lorimer when she discovered that he looked upon her correspondence as his own property and deeply resented any inclination on her part to keep it to herself.

Avery’s arrival had brought an additional interest to the morning budget.  Her letters were invariably examined with bland curiosity and handed on to her with comments appropriate to their appearance.  Occasionally envelopes with an Australian postmark reached her, and these always excited especial notice.  The brief spell of Avery’s married life had been spent in a corner of New South Wales.  In the early part of their acquaintance, Mr. Lorimer had sought to draw her out on the subject of her experiences during this period, but he had found her reticent.  And so whenever a letter came addressed in the strong, masculine hand of her Australian correspondent, some urbane remark was invariably made, while his small daughter Gracie swelled with indignation at the further end of the table.

“Two epistles for Mrs. Denys!” he announced, as he turned over the morning’s mail at the breakfast-table two days after Christmas.  “Ah, I thought our Australian friend would be calling attention to himself ere the festive season had quite departed.  He writes from Adelaide on this occasion.  That indicates a move if I mistake not.  His usual pied-a-terre has been Brisbane hitherto, has it not?”

His little dark eyes interrogated Avery for a moment before they vanished inwards with disconcerting completeness.

Avery stiffened instinctively.  She was well aware that Mr. Lorimer did not like her, but the fact held no disturbing element.  To her mind the dislike of the man was preferable to his favour and after all she saw but little of him.

She went on therefore with her occupation of cutting bread and butter for the children with no sign of annoyance save that slight, scarcely perceptible stiffening of the neck which only Gracie saw.

“I hope you are kind to your faithful correspondent,” smiled Mr. Lorimer, still holding the letter between his finger and thumb.  “He evidently regards your friendship as a pearl of price, and doubtless he is well-advised to do so.”