“I don’t know why you should say that,” said Ina.  “It ought to matter—­anyhow to your grandfather.  Why don’t you make him go by himself?”

Piers laughed a careless laugh, still boldly watching her.  “That wouldn’t be very dutiful of me, would it?” he said.

“I suppose you’re not afraid of him?” said Ina, who knew not the meaning of the word.

“Why should you suppose that?” said Piers.

She met his look in momentary surprise.  “To judge by the way you behaved the other day, I should say you were not.”

Piers frowned.  “Which day?”

Ina explained without embarrassment.  “The day that girl held up the whole Hunt in Holland’s meadow.  My word, Piers, how furious the old man was!  Does he often behave like that?”

Piers still frowned.  His fingers were working restlessly at the ivory sticks of her fan.  “If you mean, does he often thrash me with a horsewhip, no, he doesn’t,” he said shortly.  “And he wouldn’t have done it then if I’d had a hand to spare.  I’m glad you enjoyed the spectacle.  Hope you were all edified.”

“You needn’t be waxy,” said Ina calmly.  “I assure you, you never showed to greater advantage.  I hope your lady friend was duly grateful to her deliverer.  I rather liked her pluck, Piers.  Who is she?”

There was a sudden crack between Piers’ fingers.  He looked down hastily, and in a moment displayed three broken ivory fan-sticks to the girl beside him.  “I’m horribly sorry, Ina,” he said.

Ina looked at the damage, and from it to his face of contrition.  “You did it on purpose,” she said.

“I did not,” said Piers.

“You’re very rude,” she rejoined.

“No, I’m not,” he protested.  “I’m sorry.  I hope you didn’t value it for any particular reason.  I’ll send you another from Paris.”

She spurned the broken thing with a careless gesture.  “Not you!  You’d be afraid to.”

Piers’ brows went up.  “Afraid?”

“Of your grandfather,” she said, with a derisive smile.  “If he caught you sending anything to me—­or to the lady of the meadow—­” she paused eloquently.

Piers looked grim.  “Of course I shall send you a fan if you’ll accept it.”

“How nice of you!” said Ina.  “Wouldn’t you like to send something for her in the same parcel?  I’ll deliver it for you—­if you’ll tell me the lady’s address.”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she made the suggestion.  Piers frowned yet a moment longer, then laughed back with abrupt friendliness.

“Thanks awfully!  But I won’t trouble you.  It’s decent of you not to be angry over this.  I’ll get you a ripping one to make up.”

Ina nodded.  “That’ll be quite amusing.  Everyone will think that you’re really in earnest at last.  Poor Dick will be furious when he knows.”

“You’ll probably console him pretty soon,” returned Piers.

“Think so?” Ina’s eyes narrowed a little; she looked at Piers speculatively.  “That’s what you want to believe, is it?”