Avery, with her face to the fire, laughed a little. "Anything new?"
"Miss Whalley," said Tudor deliberately, "always gets hold of something new. Never noticed that?"
"Wouldn't you like me to pour out?" suggested Avery.
"No. You keep your feet on the fender. Do you want to hear the latest tittle-tattle—or not?"
There was a wary gleam behind Tudor's glasses; but Avery did not turn her eyes from the fire. A curious little feeling of uneasiness possessed her, a sensation that scarcely amounted to dread yet which quickened the beating of her heart in a fashion that she found vaguely disconcerting.
"Don't tell me anything ugly!" she said gently, still not looking at him.
Tudor uttered a short laugh. "There's nothing especially venomous about it that I can see." He lifted the teapot and began to pour. "Have you heard from young Evesham lately?"
The question was casually uttered; but Avery's hands made a slight involuntary movement over the fire towards which she leaned.
"No," she said.
At the same moment the cup that Tudor was filling overflowed, and he whispered something under his breath and set down the tea-pot.