Reverend Stephen."

She glanced at him again and became grave. "No, I didn't confess to
anyone. But I think it's a pity ever to lose one's temper. It involves a
waste of power."

"Does it?" said Piers.

"Yes." She nodded with conviction. "We need all the strength we can
muster for other things. How is your dog to-day?"

Piers ignored the question. "What other things?" he demanded.

She hesitated.

"Go on!" said Piers imperiously.

Avery complied half-reluctantly. "I meant--mainly--the burdens of life.
We can't afford to weaken ourselves by any loss of self-control. The man
who keeps his temper is immeasurably stronger than the man who loses it."

Piers was frowning; his dark eyes looked almost black. Suddenly he turned
upon her. "Mrs. Denys, I have a strong suspicion that your temper is a
sweet one. If so, you're no judge of these things. Why didn't you leather
me with my own whip yesterday? You had me at your mercy."

Avery smiled. Plainly he was set upon a personal encounter, and she could
not avoid it. "Well, frankly, Mr. Evesham," she said, "I was never nearer
to striking anyone in my life."