He kissed her again with lips that crushed her own. "We won't stay longer than we can help," he said. "You ought to go out more, you know. It isn't good for you to stay in this gloomy old vault all day. We will really get to work and make it more habitable presently. But I've got such a lot on hand just now."
"I know," she said quietly. "Please don't bother about me! Lunch is waiting for us. Shall we go?"
He gave her a quick, keen look, as if he suspected her of trying to elude him; but he let her go without a word.
They descended to lunch, and later went forth into the blazing sunshine where the car awaited them. Avery sank back into the corner and closed her eyes. Her head was aching violently. The sense of reluctance that had possessed her for so long amounted almost to a premonition of evil.
"Avery!" Her husband's voice, curt, imperious, with just a tinge of anxiety broke in upon her. "Are you feeling faint or anything?"
She looked at him. He was watching her with a frown between his eyes.
"No, I am not faint," she said. "The heat makes my head ache, that's all."
"You ought to see a doctor," he said restlessly. "But not that ass, Tudor. We'll go up to town to-morrow. Avery," his voice softened suddenly, "I'm sorry I dragged you here if you didn't want to come."
She put out her hand to him instantly. It was the old Piers who had spoken, Piers the boy-lover who had won her heart so irresistibly, so completely.
He held the hand tightly, and she thought his face quivered a little as he said: "I don't mean to be a tyrant, dear. But somehow—somehow, you know—I can't always help it. A man with a raging thirst will take—anything he can get."