He uttered the last two words as if reluctantly, yet as if some measure of pride impelled him.
Crowther's hand pressed his arm, in mute sympathy. "You are right to take care of her," he said simply. "And Piers, my lad, I want to tell you how glad I was to know that you were able to win her after all. I somehow felt you would."
It was his first attempt to pass that intangible barrier, and it failed.
Piers disregarded the words as if they had not reached him.
"I don't know if I shall let her stay here through the winter," he said. "I am not sure that the place suits her. It's damp, you know; good hunting and so on, but a bit depressing in bad weather. Besides I'd rather have her under a town doctor. The new heir arrives in March," he said, with a slight laugh that struck Crowther as unconsciously pathetic.
"I'm very pleased to hear it, sonny," said Crowther. "May he be the first of many! What does Avery think about it? I'll warrant she's pleased?"
"Oh yes, she's pleased enough."
"And you, lad?"
"Oh yes, I'm pleased too," said Piers, but his tone lacked complete satisfaction and he added after a moment, "I'd rather have had her to myself a bit longer. I'm a selfish brute, you know, Crowther. I want all I can get—and even that's hardly enough to keep me from starvation."
There was a note of banter in his voice, but there was something else as well that touched Crowther's kindly heart.
"I don't think Avery is the sort of woman to sacrifice her husband to her children," he said. "You will always come first, sonny,—if I know her."