He opened the great door with an impatient hand.  What on earth was the boy doing?  Had he gone love-making to Wardenhurst?  A grim smile touched the old man’s grim lips as this thought occurred to him.  That he was not wasting his time nearer home he was fairly convinced; for only that morning he had heard from Lennox Tudor that the mother’s help at the Vicarage, over whom in the winter Piers had been inclined to make a fool of himself, had taken one of the children away for a change.  It seemed more than probable by this time that Piers’ wandering fancy had wholly ceased to stray in her direction, but the news of her absence had caused Sir Beverley undoubted satisfaction.  He hoped his boy would not encounter that impertinent, scheming woman again until he was safely engaged to Ina Rose.  That this engagement was imminent Sir Beverley was fully convinced.  His only wonder was that it had not taken place sooner.  The two had been thrown together almost daily during the sojourn of Colonel Rose and his daughter at Mentone, and they had always seemed to enjoy each other’s society.  Of course Sir Beverley did not like the girl.  He actively disliked the whole female species.  But she belonged to the county, and she seemed moreover to be a normal healthy young woman who would be the mother of normal healthy children.  And this was the sort of wife Piers wanted.  For Piers—­drat the boy!—­was not normal.  He inherited a good deal of his Italian grandmother’s temperament as well as her beauty.  And life was not likely to be a very easy matter for him in consequence.

But an ordinary young English wife of his own rank would be a step in the right direction.  So reasoned Sir Beverley, who had taken that fatal step in the wrong one in his youth and had never recovered the ground thus lost.

Standing there at the open door, he dwelt upon his boy’s future with a kind of grim pleasure that was not unmixed with heartache.  He and his wife would have to go and live at the Dower House of course.  No feminine truck at the Abbey for him!  But the lad should continue to manage the estate with him.  That would bring them in contact every day.  He couldn’t do without that much.  The evenings would be lonely enough.  He pictured the long silent dinners with a weary frown.  How infernally lonely the Abbey could be!

The steady tick of the clock in the corner forced itself upon his notice.  He swore at it under his breath, and went out upon the steps.

At the same instant a view-halloo from the dark avenue greeted him, and in spite of himself his face softened.

“Hullo, you rascal!” he shouted back.  “What the devil are you up to?”

Piers came running up, light-footed and alert.  “I’ve been unlucky,” he explained.  “Had two punctures.  I left the car at the garage and came on as quickly as I could.  I say, I’m awfully sorry.  I’ve been with Dick Guyes.”

Sir Beverley growled inarticulately, and turned inwards.  So he had not been to the Roses’ after all!