His own laughter was boyishly spontaneous.
But at the end of the meal, when wine was placed upon the table, he suddenly ceased his careless chatter, and leaned forward with his dark eyes full upon Sir Beverley's face.
"Now, sir, you want to know the name of the girl who wasn't afraid of you this afternoon, I mentioned her to you once before.

Her name is Avery Denys.

She is a widow; and she calls herself the mother's help at the Vicarage." He gave his information with absolute steadiness.

His voice was wholly free from emotion of any sort, but it rang a trifle stern, and his mouth--that sensitive, clean-cut mouth of his--had the grimness of an iron resolution about it.

Sir Beverley looked at him frowningly over his wine.
"The woman who threw a pail of water over you once, eh ?" he said, after a moment.