Piers laughed again, a bitter, gibing laugh.  “I suppose it’s more to you than your own soul—­or anyone else’s,” he said.

Crowther paused in the act of pouring out.  “Now what do you mean?” he said.

His eyes, direct and level, looked full at Piers.  They held no anger, no indignation, only calm enquiry.

Piers faced the look with open mockery.  “I mean, my good friend,” he said, “that if I asked you to chuck it all and go round the world with me—­you’d see me damned first.”

Crowther’s eyes dropped gravely to the job in hand.  “Say when!” he said.

Piers made a restless movement.  “Oh, that’s enough!  Strong drink is not my weakness.  Why don’t you answer my question?”

“I didn’t know you asked one,” said Crowther.

He set the tumbler in front of Piers and began to help himself.

Piers watched him for a couple of seconds longer, then leapt impulsively to his feet.  “Oh, I’m going!” he said.  “I was a fool to come!”

Crowther set down the decanter and straightened himself.  He did not seem to move quickly, but he was at the door before Piers reached it.

He stood massively before him, blocking the way.  “You’ve behaved foolishly a good many times in your life, my lad,” he said.  “But I shouldn’t call you a fool.  Why do you want me to go round the world with you?  Tell me that!”

His tone was mild, but there was a certain grimness about him notwithstanding.  He looked at Piers with a faint smile in his eyes that had in it a quality of resolution that made itself felt.  Piers stood still before him, half-chafing, half-subdued.

“Tell me!” Crowther said again.

“Oh, what’s the good?” With a defiance that was oddly boyish Piers flung the question.  “I see I’ve applied in the wrong quarter.  Let me go!”

“I will not,” Crowther said.  Deliberately he raised a hand and pointed to the chair from which Piers had just sprung.  “Sit down again, sonny, and we’ll talk.”

Piers swung round with an impatient gesture and went to the window.  He threw it wide, and the distant roar of traffic filled the quiet room like the breaking of the sea.

After a distinct pause Crowther followed him.  They stood together gazing out over the dim wilderness of many roofs and chimneys to where the crude glare of an advertisement lit up the night sky.

Piers was absolutely motionless, but there was a species of violence in his very stillness, as of a trapped animal preparing to make a wild rush for freedom.  His attitude was feverishly tense.

Suddenly and very quietly Crowther’s hand came forth and linked itself in his arm.  “What is it, lad?” he said.

Piers made a jerky movement as if to avoid the touch, but the hand closed slowly and steadily upon him.  He turned abruptly and met Crowther’s eyes.

“Crowther,” he said, “I’ve behaved like a cur.  I—­broke that promise I made to you.”