"I like to see you here," she answered simply. "And I am so grateful to you for your kindness to my little Jeanie."

"Oh, please don't!" said Piers. "I a.s.sure you it's quite the other way round. I shall certainly come again since you are good enough to ask me."

He smiled with boyish gallantry into the wistful, faded face, carried her fingers lightly to his lips, and pa.s.sed on.

"Such a nice boy!" Mrs. Lorimer murmured to herself as she went up to the nursery.

"Poor little soul!" was Piers' inward comment as he ran down to the hall.

Here he paused, finding himself face to face with Lennox Tudor who was taking off his coat preparatory to ascending.

The doctor nodded to him without cordiality. Neither of them ever pretended to take any pleasure in the other's society.

"Are you just going?" he asked. "Your grandfather is wanting you."

"Who says so?" said Piers aggressively.

"I say so." Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers' quick frown with one equally decided.

Piers stood still in front of him. "Have you just come from the Abbey?"

he demanded.

"I have." Tudor's tone was non-committal. He stood facing Piers, waiting to pa.s.s.

"What are you always going there for?" burst forth Piers, with heat. "He doesn't want you--never follows your advice, and does excellently well without it."

"Really!" said Tudor. He uttered a short, sarcastic laugh, albeit his thick brows met closely above his gla.s.ses. "Well, you ought to know--being such a devoted and attentive grandson."

Piers' hands clenched at the words. He looked suddenly dangerous. "What in thunder do you mean?" he demanded.

Tudor was nothing loth to enlighten him. He was plainly angry himself.

"I mean," he said, "if you must have it, that the time you spend philandering here would be better employed in looking after the old man, who has spent a good deal over you and gets precious little interest out of the investment."

"Confound you!" exclaimed Piers violently. "Who the devil are you to talk to me like this? Do you think I'm going to put up with it, what? If so, you're d.a.m.ned well mistaken. You leave me alone--and my grandfather too; do you hear? If you don't--" He broke off, breathing short and hard.

But Tudor remained unimpressed. He looked at Piers as one might look at an animal raging behind bars. "Well?" he said. "Pray finish! If I don't--"

Piers' face was very pale. His eyes blazed out of it, red and threatening. "If you don't--I'll murder you!" he said.

And at that he stopped short and suddenly wheeled round as he caught the swish of a dress on the stairs. He looked up into Avery's face as she came swiftly down, and the blood rose in a deep, dark wave to his forehead. He made no attempt to cover or excuse his pa.s.sionate outburst, which it was perfectly obvious she must have heard. He merely made way for her, his hands still hard clenched, his eyes immovably upon her.

Avery pa.s.sed him with scarcely a glance, but her voice as she addressed Lennox Tudor sounded a trifle austere. "I heard you speaking," she said, "and ran down to fetch you upstairs. Will you come up at once, please?

The ceremony is just beginning."

Tudor held out a steady hand, "Very kind of you, Mrs. Denys," he said.

"Will you lead the way?" And then for a moment he turned from her to Piers. "If you have anything further to say to me, Evesham, I shall be quite ready to give you a hearing on a more suitable occasion."

"I have nothing further to say," said Piers, still with his eyes upon Avery.

She would not look at him. With deliberate intention, she ignored his look. "Come, doctor!" she said.

They mounted the stairs together, Piers still standing motionless, still mutely watching. There was no temper nor anger in his face. Simply he stood and waited. And, as if that silent gaze drew her, even against her will, suddenly at the top she turned. Her own sweet smile flashed into her face. She threw a friendly glance down to him.

"Good-night, Mr. Evesham!" she called softly. "A happy Christmas to you!"

And as if that were what he had been waiting for, Piers bowed very low in answer and at once turned away.

His face as he went out into the night wore a very curious expression. It was not grim, nor ashamed, nor triumphant, and yet there was in it a suggestion of all three moods.

He reached his car, standing as he had left it in the deserted lane, and stooped to start the engine. Then, as it throbbed in answer, he straightened himself, and very suddenly he laughed. But it was not a happy laugh; and in a moment more he shot away into the dark as though pursued by fiends. If he had gained his end, if he had in any fashion achieved his desire, it was plain that it did not give him any great satisfaction. He went like a fury through the night.

CHAPTER XV

THE SCHEME

"Look here, boy!" Very suddenly, almost fiercely, Sir Beverley addressed his grandson that evening as they sat together over dessert. "I've had enough of this infernal English climate. I'm going away."

Piers was peeling a walnut. He did not raise his eyes or make the faintest sign of surprise. Steadily his fingers continued their task. His lips hardened a little, that was all.

"Do you hear?" rapped out Sir Beverley.

Piers bent his head. "What about the hunting?" he said.

"d.a.m.n the hunting!" growled Sir Beverley.

Piers was silent a moment. Then: "I suggested it to you myself, didn't I?" he said deliberately, "six weeks ago. And you wouldn't hear of it."

"Confound your impertinence!" began Sir Beverley. But abruptly Piers raised his eyes, and he stopped. "What do you mean?" he said, in a calmer tone.

Very steadily Piers met his look. "That's a question I should like to ask, sir," he said. "Why do you want to go abroad? Aren't you well?"

"I am perfectly well," declared Sir Beverley, who furiously resented any enquiry as to his health. "Can't a man take it into his head that he'd like a change from this beastly damp hole of a country without being at death's door, I should like to know?"

"You generally have a reason for what you do, sir," observed Piers.

"Of course I have a reason," flung back Sir Beverley.

A faint smile touched the corners of Piers' mouth. "But I am not to know what it is, what?" he asked.

Sir Beverley glared at him. There were times when he was possessed by an uneasy suspicion that the boy was growing up into a manhood that threatened to overthrow his control. He had a feeling that Piers'

submission to his authority had become a matter of choice rather than of necessity. He had inherited his Italian grandmother's fortune, moreover,--a sore point with Sir Beverley who would have repudiated every penny had it been left at his disposal--and was therefore independent.

"I've given you a reason. What more do you want?" he growled.

Piers looked straight at him for a few seconds longer; then broke into his sudden boyish laugh. "All right, sir. When shall we start?" he said.