He was silent for a space, then slowly raised himself. She had a sense of shock at sight of his face. It looked haggard and grey, as if a withering hand had touched him and shorn away his youth.
"Avery,—oh, Avery," he said, "I wish I were a better man!"
It was a cry wrung from his soul—the hungry cry which she had longed to hear, and it sent a great joy through her even though it wrung her own soul also.
She bent to him swiftly. "Dearest, we all feel that sometimes. And I think it is the Hand of God upon us, opening our eyes."
He did not answer or make any response to her words. Only as he clasped her to him, she heard him sigh. And she knew that, strive as he might to silence that soul-craving with earthly things, it would beat on unsatisfied through all. She came nearer to understanding him that night that ever before.
CHAPTER III
THE FIRST GUEST
"I am greatly honoured to be your first guest," said Crowther.
"The honour is ours to get you," Avery declared. She sat on the terrace whither she had conducted him, and smiled at him across the tea-table with eyes of shining friendship.
Crowther smiled back, thinking to himself how pleasant a picture she made. She was dressed in white, and her face was flushed and happy, even girlish in its animation. There was a ring of laughter in her voice when she talked that was very good to hear. She had herself just brought him from the station in Piers' little two-seater, and her obvious pleasure at meeting him still hung about her, making her very fair to see.