e piece of especial devilry in the days of
his boyhood.

"I told him she was his for the asking, sir," he said coolly, "and
promised not to flirt with her any more till they were safely married."

"Damn you!" exclaimed Sir Beverley violently and without warning.

He had a glass of wine in front of him, and with the words his fingers
gripped the stem. In another second he would have hurled the liquid full
in Piers' face; but Piers was too quick for him. Quick as lightning, his
own hand shot out across the corner of the table and grasped the old
man's wrist.

"No, sir! No!" he said sternly.

They glared into each other's eyes, and Sir Beverley uttered a
furious oath; but after the first instinctive effort to free himself
he did no more.

At the end of possibly thirty seconds Piers took his hand away. He pushed
back his chair in the same movement and rose.

"Shall we talk in the library?" he said. "This room is hot."

Sir Beverley raised the wine-glass to his lips with a hand that shook,
and drained it deliberately.

"Yes," he said then, "We will--talk in the library."

He got up with an agility that he seldom displayed, and turned to the
door. As he went he glanced up suddenly at the softly mocking face on the
wall, and a sharp spasm contracted his harsh features. But he scarcely
paused. Without further words he left the room; and Piers followed, light
of tread, behind him.

The study windows stood wide open to the night. Piers crossed the room
and quietly closed them. Then, without haste and without hesitation, he
came to the table and stopped before it.

"I never intended to marry Ina Rose," he said. "I was only amusing
myself--and her."

"The devil you were!" ejaculated Sir Beverley.

Piers went on with the utmost steadiness. "We are not in the least
suited to one another, and we have the sense to realize it. The next time
Guyes asks her, I believe she will have him."

"Sense!" roared Sir Beverley. "Do you dare to talk to me of sense,
you--you blind fool? Mighty lot of sense you can boast of! And what the
devil does it matter whether you suit one another--as you call it--or
not, so long as you keep the whip-hand? You'll tell me next that you're
not--in love with her, I suppose?"

The bitterness of the last words seemed to shake him from head to foot.
He looked at Piers with the memory of a past torment in his eyes. And
because of it Piers turned away his own.

"It's quite true, sir," he said, in a