“Are you just going?” he asked.  “Your grandfather is wanting you.”

“Who says so?” said Piers aggressively.

“I say so.”  Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers’ quick frown with one equally decided.

Piers stood still in front of him.  “Have you just come from the Abbey?” he demanded.

“I have.”  Tudor’s tone was non-committal.  He stood facing Piers, waiting to pass.

“What are you always going there for?” burst forth Piers, with heat.  “He doesn’t want you—­never follows your advice, and does excellently well without it.”

“Really!” said Tudor.  He uttered a short, sarcastic laugh, albeit his thick brows met closely above his glasses.  “Well, you ought to know—­being such a devoted and attentive grandson.”

Piers’ hands clenched at the words.  He looked suddenly dangerous.  “What in thunder do you mean?” he demanded.

Tudor was nothing loth to enlighten him.  He was plainly angry himself.  “I mean,” he said, “if you must have it, that the time you spend philandering here would be better employed in looking after the old man, who has spent a good deal over you and gets precious little interest out of the investment.”

“Confound you!” exclaimed Piers violently.  “Who the devil are you to talk to me like this?  Do you think I’m going to put up with it, what?  If so, you’re damned well mistaken.  You leave me alone—­and my grandfather too; do you hear?  If you don’t—­” He broke off, breathing short and hard.

But Tudor remained unimpressed.  He looked at Piers as one might look at an animal raging behind bars.  “Well?” he said.  “Pray finish!  If I don’t—­”

Piers’ face was very pale.  His eyes blazed out of it, red and threatening.  “If you don’t—­I’ll murder you!” he said.

And at that he stopped short and suddenly wheeled round as he caught the swish of a dress on the stairs.  He looked up into Avery’s face as she came swiftly down, and the blood rose in a deep, dark wave to his forehead.  He made no attempt to cover or excuse his passionate outburst, which it was perfectly obvious she must have heard.  He merely made way for her, his hands still hard clenched, his eyes immovably upon her.

Avery passed him with scarcely a glance, but her voice as she addressed Lennox Tudor sounded a trifle austere.  “I heard you speaking,” she said, “and ran down to fetch you upstairs.  Will you come up at once, please?  The ceremony is just beginning.”

Tudor held out a steady hand, “Very kind of you, Mrs. Denys,” he said.  “Will you lead the way?” And then for a moment he turned from her to Piers.  “If you have anything further to say to me, Evesham, I shall be quite ready to give you a hearing on a more suitable occasion.”

“I have nothing further to say,” said Piers, still with his eyes upon Avery.

She would not look at him.  With deliberate intention, she ignored his look.  “Come, doctor!” she said.