It was Sir Beverley who broke the silence at last with a species of inarticulate snarl peculiarly his own. Piers' dark eyes were instantly upon him, but he said nothing, merely waiting for the words to which this sound was the preface. Sir Beverley's brow was thunderous. He looked back at Piers with a piercing grim regard. "Well?" he said. "What fool idea have you got in your brain now? I suppose I've got to hear it sooner or later." It was not a conciliatory speech, yet Piers received it with no visible resentment. "I don't know that I want to say anything very special," he said, after a moment's thought. "Oh, don't you?" growled Sir Beverley. "Then what are you thinking about? Tell me that!" Piers leaned back in his chair. "I was thinking about Dick Guyes," he said. "He is dining at the Roses' to-night." "Oh!" said Sir Beverley shortly. A faint smile came at the corners of Piers' mouth. "He wants to propose to Ina for about the hundred and ninetieth time," he said, "but doesn't know if he can screw himself up to it. I told him not to be such a shy ass. She is only waiting for him to speak." "Eh?" said Sir Beverley. A queer little dancing gleam leaped up in Piers' eyes--the gleam that had invariably heralded some piece of especial devilry in the days of his boyhood. "I told him she was his for the asking, sir," he said coolly, "and promised not to flirt with her any more till they were safely married." "Damn you!" exclaimed Sir Beverley violently and without warning. He had a glass of wine in front of him, and with the words his fingers gripped the stem. In another second he would have hurled the liquid full in Piers' face; but Piers was too quick for him. Quick as lightning, his own hand shot out across the corner of the table and grasped the old man's wrist. "No, sir! No!" he said sternly. They glared into each other's eyes, and Sir Beverley uttered a furious oath; but after the first instinctive effort to free himself he did no more. At the end of possibly thirty seconds Piers took his hand away. He pushed back his chair in the same movement and rose. "Shall we talk in the library?" he said. "This room is hot." Sir Beverley raised the wine-glass to his lips with a hand that shook, and drained it deliberately. "Yes," he said then, "We will--talk in the library." He got up with an agility that he seldom displayed, and turned to the door. As he went he glanced up suddenly at the softly mocking face on the wall, and a sharp spasm contracted his harsh features. But he scarcely paused. Without further words he left the room; and Piers followed, light of tread, behind him. The study windows stood wide open to the night. Piers crossed the room and quietly closed them. Then, without haste and without hesitation, he came to the table and stopped before it. "I never intended to marry Ina Rose," he said. "I was only amusing myself--and her." "The devil you were!" ejaculated Sir Beverley.