He could not remember a single occasion upon which he had not been able to master Piers, possibly after a fierce struggle but always with absolute completeness in the end. And there was so much of sweetness in the youngster's nature that, unruly though he might be, he never nurtured a grievance. He would fight for his own way to the last of his strength, but when beaten he always yielded with a good grace. To his grandfather alone he could submit without any visible wound to his pride. Who could help glorying in a boy like that? David the butler, a man of infinite respectability, came softly into the hall and approached his master. "Are you ready for dinner, Sir Beverley?" "No," snapped Sir Beverley. "Can't you see Master Piers isn't here?" "Very good, sir," murmured David, and retired decorously, fading into the background without the faintest sound, while Caesar the Dalmatian who had entered with him lay sedately down in well-bred silence at Sir Beverley's feet. There fell a pause, while Sir Beverley's eyes returned to the wide oak staircase, watching it ceaselessly, with vulture-like intentness. Then after the passage of minutes, there came the sound of feet that literally scampered along the corridor above, and in a moment, with meteor-like suddenness, Piers flashed into view. He seemed to descend the stairs without touching them, and was greeted at the foot by Caesar, who leapt to meet him with wide-mouthed delight. "Hullo, you scamp, hullo!" laughed Piers, responding to the dog's caresses with a careless hand. "Out of the way with you! I'm late." "As usual," observed Sir Beverley, leaning slowly forward, still with his eyes unblinkingly fixed upon his grandson's merry face. "Come here, boy!" Piers came to him unabashed. Sir Beverley got heavily to his feet and took him by the shoulder. "Who is that woman, Piers?" he said, regarding him piercingly. Piers' forehead was instantly drawn by a quick frown. He stood passive, but there was a suggestion of resistance about him notwithstanding. "Whom do you mean, sir?" he said. "What woman?" "You know very well who I mean," snarled Sir Beverley. "Come, I'll have none of your damn' nonsense. Never have stood it and never will. Who was that white-faced cat that got in my way this afternoon and helped you to a thrashing? Eh, Piers? Who was she, I say? Who was she?" Piers made a sharp involuntary movement of the hands, and as swiftly restrained himself. He looked his grandfather full in the face. "Ask me after dinner, sir," he said, speaking with something of an effort, "and I'll tell you all I know." "You'll tell me now!" declared Sir Beverley, shaking the shoulder he gripped with savage impatience. But Piers put up a quick hand and stopped him. "No, sir, not now. Come and dine first! I've no mind to go dinnerless to bed. Come, sir, don't badger me!" He smiled suddenly and very winningly into the stern grey eyes. "There's all the evening before us, and I shan't shirk."