“Get along with you!” he said.  “And dress as fast as you can!”

And Piers bounded past him and went up the stairs in three great leaps.  He seemed to have grown younger during the few days that had elapsed since their return, more ardent, more keenly alive.  The English spring seemed to exhilarate him; but for the first time Sir Beverley began to have his doubts as to the reason for his evident pleasure in returning.  What on earth had he been to see Guyes for?  Guyes of all people—­who was well-known as one of Miss Ina’s most devoted adorers!

It was evident that the news he desired to hear would not be imparted to him that night, and Sir Beverley considered himself somewhat aggrieved in consequence.  He was decidedly short with Piers when he reappeared—­a fact which in no way disturbed his grandson’s equanimity.  He talked cheery commonplaces throughout dinner without effort, regardless of Sir Beverley’s discouraging attitude, and it was not till dessert was placed upon the table that he allowed his conversational energies to flag.

Then indeed, as David finally and ceremoniously withdrew, did he suddenly seem to awake to the fact that conversation was no longer a vital necessity, and forthwith dropped into an abrupt, uncompromising silence.

It lasted for a space of minutes during which neither of them stirred or uttered a syllable, becoming at length ominous as the electric stillness before the storm.

They came through it characteristically, Sir Beverley staring fixedly before him under the frown that was seldom wholly absent from his face; Piers, steady-eyed and intent, keenly watching the futile agonies of a night-moth among the candles.  There was about him a massive, statuesque look in vivid contrast to the pulsing vitality of a few minutes before.

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.”