"We loathe and detest each other," said Piers. All the boyishness went out of his face with the words; he looked suddenly grim, and in that moment the likeness between them was very marked. "I presume this change of air scheme was his suggestion," he said abruptly. "And if it was?" said Sir Beverley. Piers threw back his head and laughed again through clenched teeth. "For which piece of consideration he has my sincere gratitude," he said. He pressed his grandfather's hand again and rose. "So it's to be Monte Carlo, is it? Well, the sooner the better for me. I'll tell Victor to look up the trains. We can't get away to-morrow or the next day. But we ought to be able to manage the day after." He strolled across to the fire, and stood there with his back to the room, whistling below his breath. Sir Beverley regarded him frowningly. There was no denying the fact, he did not understand Piers. He had expected a strenuous opposition to his scheme. He had been prepared to do battle with the boy. But Piers had refused the conflict. What was the fellow's game, he asked himself? Why this prompt compliance with his wishes? He was not to be deceived into the belief that he wanted to go. The attraction was too great for that. Unless indeed--he looked across at the bent black head in sudden doubt--was it possible that the boy had met with a check in the least likely direction of all? Could it be that the woman's plans did not include him after all? No! No! That was out of the question. He knew women. A hard laugh rose to his lips. If she had put a check upon Piers' advances it was not with the ultimate purpose of stopping him. She knew what she was about too well for that, confound her! He stared at Piers who had wheeled suddenly from the fire at the sound of the laugh. "Well?" he said irritably. "Well? What's the matter now?" The eyes that countered his were hard, with just a hint of defiance. "You laughed, sir," said Piers curtly. "Well, what of it?" threw back Sir Beverley. "You're deuced suspicious. I wasn't laughing at you." "I know that," said Piers. He spoke deliberately, as one choosing his words. His face was stern. "I don't want to know the joke if it's private. But I should like to know how long you want to be away." "How long? How the devil can I tell?" growled Sir Beverley. "Till I've had enough of it, I suppose." "Does it depend on that only?" said Piers. Sir Beverley pushed back his chair with fierce impatience. "Oh, leave me alone, boy, do! I'll let you know when it's time to come home again." Piers came towards him. He halted with the light from the lamp full on his resolute face. "If you are going to wait on Tudor's convenience," he said, "you'll wait--longer than I shall." "What the devil do you mean?" thundered Sir Beverley. But again Piers turned aside from open conflict. He put a quiet hand through his grandfather's arm.