id Mike."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Avery in great distress. "I'm afraid that was
my fault."

"Yours, Mrs. Denys?" Mr. Lorimer's eyes became visible as two brilliant
pin-points turned searchingly upon her face.

"Yes, mine!" she reiterated. "Mike was whining on his chain, and I said I
thought it was cruel to keep a dog tied up. I suppose I ought to have
kept my thoughts to myself," she said with a pathetic little smile. "Do
please forgive us both this time!"

Mr. Lorimer ignored the appeal. "And do you know what happened in
consequence of his being liberated?" he asked.

"Yes, I do." Ruefully she made answer. "He fought Mr. Evesham's dog and I
helped to pull him off."

"You, Mrs. Denys!"

"Yes, I." She nodded. "There wasn't much damage done, anyhow to Mike. I
am very, very sorry, Mr. Lorimer. But really Pat is not to blame for
this. Won't you--please--"

She stopped, for very decidedly Mr. Lorimer interrupted her. "I am afraid
I cannot agree with you, Mrs. Denys. You may have spoken unadvisedly, but
Patrick was aware that in releasing the dog he was acting in direct
opposition to my orders. Therefore he must bear his own punishment. I
must beg that for the future you will endeavour to be a little more
discreet in your observations. Patrick, open the door for Mrs. Denys!"

It was a definite dismissal--perhaps the most definite that Avery had
ever had in her life. A fury of resentment possessed her, but feeling her
self-control to be tottering, she dared not give it vent. She turned in
quivering silence and departed.

As she went out of the room, she perceived that Pat had begun to cry.

CHAPTER IV

THE MOTHER'S HELP

"It's always the same," moaned Mrs. Lorimer. "My poor children! They're
never out of trouble." Avery stood still. She had fled to the
drawing-room to recover herself, only to find the lady of the house lying
in tears upon the sofa there. Mrs. Lorimer was very small and pathetic.
She had lost all her health long before in the bearing and nurturing of
her children. Once upon a time she must have possessed the delicate
prettiness that characterized her eldest daughter Jeanie, but it had
faded long since. She was worn out now, a tired, drab little woman, with
no strength left to stand against adversity. The only consolation in her
life was her love for her husband. Him she worshipped, not wholly
blindly, but with a devotion that never faltered. A kind word from him
was capable of exalting her