"Don't rag me, Avery! I've had a filthy time lately. And when I saw you cut and run at sight of me—I just couldn't stand it. I've been wanting to answer your letter, but I couldn't."
"But why should you?" Avery broke in gently. "My letter was the answer to yours."
She gave him her hand, because she could not help it.
He held it in a hungry clasp. "I know—I know," he said rather incoherently. "It—it was very decent of you not to be angry. I believe I let myself go rather—what? Thanks awfully for being so sweet about it!"
"My dear boy," Avery said, "you thank me for nothing! The matter is past.
Don't let us re-open it!"
She spoke with unconscious appeal. His hand squeezed hers in instant response. "All right. We won't. And look here,—if you want me to tell my grandfather that he has been building his castle in the air,—it'll mean a row of course, but—I'll do it."
"Will you?" said Avery.
He nodded. "Yes—as you wish it. And may I come to tea with Jeanie to-morrow?"
His dark eyes smiled suddenly into hers as he dropped her hand. She had a momentary feeling of uncertainty as she met them—a sense of doubt that disquieted her strangely. It was as if he had softly closed a door against her somewhere in his soul.
With a curious embarrassment she answered him. "Jeanie has not been well all the winter. Dr. Tudor has ordered a change, and we are going—she and I—to Stanbury Cliffs to-morrow."