nor ashamed, nor triumphant, and yet there was in it a
suggestion of all three moods.

He reached his car, standing as he had left it in the deserted lane, and
stooped to start the engine. Then, as it throbbed in answer, he
straightened himself, and very suddenly he laughed. But it was not a
happy laugh; and in a moment more he shot away into the dark as though
pursued by fiends. If he had gained his end, if he had in any fashion
achieved his desire, it was plain that it did not give him any great
satisfaction. He went like a fury through the night.

CHAPTER XV

THE SCHEME

"Look here, boy!" Very suddenly, almost fiercely, Sir Beverley addressed
his grandson that evening as they sat together over dessert. "I've had
enough of this infernal English climate. I'm going away."

Piers was peeling a walnut. He did not raise his eyes or make the
faintest sign of surprise. Steadily his fingers continued their task. His
lips hardened a little, that was all.

"Do you hear?" rapped out Sir Beverley.

Piers bent his head. "What about the hunting?" he said.

"Damn the hunting!" growled Sir Beverley.

Piers was silent a moment. Then: "I suggested it to you myself, didn't
I?" he said deliberately, "six weeks ago. And you wouldn't hear of it."

"Confound your impertinence!" began Sir Beverley. But abruptly Piers
raised his eyes, and he stopped. "What do you mean?" he said, in a
calmer tone.

Very steadily Piers met his look. "That's a question I should like to
ask, sir," he said. "Why do you want to go abroad? Aren't you well?"

"I am perfectly well," declared Sir Beverley, who furiously resented any
enquiry as to his health. "Can't a man take it into his head that he'd
like a change from this beastly damp hole of a country without being at
death's door, I should like to know?"

"You generally have a reason for what you do, sir," observed Piers.

"Of course I have a reason," flung back Sir Beverley.

A faint smile touched the corners of Piers' mouth. "But I am not to know
what it is, what?" he asked.

Sir Beverley glared at him. There were times when he was possessed by an
uneasy suspicion that the boy was growing up into a manhood that
threatened to overthrow his control. He had a feeling that Piers'
submission to his authority had become a matter of choice rather than of
necessity. He had inherited his Italian grandmother's fortune,
moreover,--a sore point with Sir Beverley who would have repudiated every
pen