"This is Avery in her everyday mood--sweet and kind and reasonable,--the Avery we all know and love--with just a hint of what the French call _'diablerie'_ to make her--_tout-a-fait adorable_." He cast his eyes up at the ceiling, and then, releasing Gracie's hand, brought his impromptu to a close with a few soft chords.
"Here endeth the Avery Symphony!" he declared, swinging round again on the music-stool.

"I could show you another Avery, but she is not on view to everybody.

It's quite possible that she has never seen herself yet." He got up with the words, tweaked Gracie's hair, caressed Jeanie's, and strolled across to the fire beside which Avery sat with her work.
"It's awfully kind of you to tolerate me like this," he said.
"Isn't it ?" said Avery, without raising her eyes.
He looked down at her, an odd gleam in his own that came and went like a leaping flame.
"You suffer fools gladly, don't you ?" he said, a queer inflection that was half a challenge in his voice.
She frowned very slightly above her stocking.

"Not particularly," she said.
"You bear with them then ?" Piers tone was insistent.
She paused as though considering her reply.

"I generally try to avoid them," she said finally.
"You keep aloof--and darn stockings," suggested Piers.
"And listen to your music," said Avery.
"Do you like my music ?" He shot the question at her imperiously.
Avery nodded.
"Really?
You do really ?" There was boyish eagerness about him now.