her children. Once upon a time she must have possessed the delicate
prettiness that characterized her eldest daughter Jeanie, but it had
faded long since. She was worn out now, a tired, drab little woman, with
no strength left to stand against adversity. The only consolation in her
life was her love for her husband. Him she worshipped, not wholly
blindly, but with a devotion that never faltered. A kind word from him
was capable of exalting her to a state of rapture that was only
out-matched by the despair engendered by his displeasure. There was so
much of sorrow mingled with her love for her children that they could
scarcely have been regarded as a joy. In fact Avery often thought to
herself how much happier she would have been without them.

"Do sit down, Mrs. Denys!" she begged nervously, as Avery remained
motionless in the middle of the room. "Stay with me for a little, won't
you? I can never bear to be alone when any of the children are being
punished. I sometimes think Pat is the worst of all. He is so highly
strung, and he loses his head. And Stephen doesn't quite understand
him, and he is so terribly severe when they rebel. And did you know
that Ronald and Julian had been smoking again on the way back from
school? They look so dreadfully ill, both of them. I know their father
will find out."

Mrs. Lorimer's whispered words went into soft weeping. She hid her face
in the cushion.

A curious little spasm went through Avery, and for a few mad seconds she
wanted to burst into heartless laughter. She conquered the impulse with a
desperate effort though it left her feeling slightly hysterical.

She moved across to the forlorn little woman and stooped over her.