His grandfather frowned at him. "Don't be a fool, Piers! Can't you see you're not wanted?" He thrust out an abrupt hand to Crowther. "Good-night to you! I shall probably retire before you come in." "He is leaving first thing in the morning," said Piers. Sir Beverley's frown was transferred to Crowther. He looked at him piercingly. "Leaving, are you? Going to England, eh? I suppose we shall meet again then?" "I hope so," said Crowther. Sir Beverley grunted. "Do you? Well, we shan't be moving yet. But--if you care to look us up at Rodding Abbey when we do get back--you can; eh, Piers?" "I tell him, he must, sir," said Piers. "You are very kind," said Crowther. "Good-bye sir! And thank you!" He and Piers went out together, and walked to and fro in the garden above the sea. The orchestra played fitfully in the hotel behind them, and now and then there came the sounds of careless voices and wandering feet. They themselves talked but little. Piers was in a dreamy mood, and his companion was plainly deep in thought. He spoke at length out of a long silence. "Did your grandfather say Rodding Abbey just now?" "Yes," said Piers, waking up. "It's near a place called Wardenhurst?" pursued Crowther. "Yes," said Piers again. "Ever been there?" "No," Crowther spoke slowly, as though considering his words. "Someone I know lives there, that's all." "Someone you know?" Piers stood still. He looked at Crowther sharply through the dimness. "I don't suppose you have ever met her, lad," said Crowther quietly. "From what I know of society in the old country you wouldn't move in the same circle. But as I have promised myself to visit her, it seems better to mention the fact." "Why shouldn't you mention it? What is her name?" Piers spoke quickly, in the imperious fashion habitual to him when not quite at his ease. Crowther hesitated. He seemed to be debating some point with himself. At length, "Her name," he said slowly, "is Denys." Piers made a sudden movement that passed unexplained. There fell a few moments of silence. Then, in a voice even more measured than Crowther's, he spoke. "As it happens, I have met her. Tell me what you know about her,--if you don't mind." Again Crowther hesitated. "Go on," said Piers. They were facing one another in the darkness. The end of Piers' cigar had ceased to glow. He did not seem to be breathing. But in the tense moments that followed his words there came to Crowther the hard, quick beating of his heart like the thud of a racing engine far away. Instinctively he put out a hand. "Piers, old chap,--" he said. "Go on!" Piers said again. He gripped both hand and wrist with nervous fingers, holding them almost as though he would force from him the information he desired.