"They are like people who have lost each other," Jeanie said once, and the simile haunted Avery's imagination.
And then one sunny day a pleasure-steamer passed quite near the shore with a band on board. They were playing The Little Grey Home in the West, and very oddly Jeanie's eyes filled with sudden tears.
Avery did not take any notice for a few moments, but as the strains died-away over the glassy water, she leaned towards the child.
"My darling, what is it?" she whispered tenderly.
Jeanie's hand found its way into hers. "Oh, don't you ever want Piers?" she murmured wistfully. "I do!"
It was the first time she had spoken his name to Avery since they had left him alone nearly a year before, and almost as soon as she had uttered it she made swift apology.
"Please forgive me, dear Avery! It just slipped out."
"My dear!" Avery said, and kissed her.
There fell a long silence between them. Avery's eyes were on the thick heat-haze that obscured the sky-line. In her brain there sounded again those words that Maxwell Wyndham had spoken so short a time before. "Give her everything she wants! It's all you can do for her now."
But behind those words was something that shrank and quivered like a frightened child. Could she give her this one thing? Could she? Could she?