Part 18 (1/2)

She glanced at him, caught by something in his tone. ”Dr. Tudor,” she said, after a moment's hesitation, ”are you--altogether--satisfied about her?”

Tudor was looking at his horse's ears; for some reason he was holding the animal in to a walk. ”I am quite satisfied with regard to the fracture,”

he said. ”She will soon be on her legs again.”

His words were deliberately wary. Avery felt a little tremor of apprehension go through her.

”I'm afraid you don't consider her very strong,” she said uneasily.

He did not at once reply. She had a feeling that he was debating within himself as to the advisability of replying at all. And then quite suddenly he turned his head and spoke. ”Mrs. Denys, you are accustomed to hearing other people's burdens, so I may as well tell you the truth. I can't say--because I don't know--if there is anything radically wrong with that little girl; but she has no stamina whatever. If she had to contend with anything serious, things would go very badly with her. In any case--” he paused.

”Yes?” said Avery.

Tudor had become wary again. ”Perhaps I have said enough,” he said.

”I don't know why you should hesitate to speak quite openly,” she rejoined steadily. ”As you say, I am a bearer of burdens. And I don't think I am easily frightened.”

”I am sure you are not,” he said. ”If I may be allowed to say so, I think you are essentially a woman to be relied on. If I did not think so, I certainly should not have spoken as I have done.”

”Then will you tell me what it is that you fear for her?” Avery said.

He was looking straight at her through the gloom, but she could not see his eyes behind their gla.s.ses. ”Well,” he said somewhat brusquely at length, ”to be quite honest, I fear--mind you, I only fear--some trouble, possibly merely some delicacy, of the lungs. Without a careful examination I cannot speak definitely. But I think there is little room for doubt that the tendency is there.”

”I see,” Avery said. She was silent a moment; then, ”You have not considered it advisable to say this to her father?” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders. ”Would it make any difference?”

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 a.s.sured 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.