“Piers!”

Cheerily Piers’ voice made answer.  He shut the door behind him and came forward as he spoke.  “Here I am, sir!  I’m sorry I’m late.  You shouldn’t have waited.  You never ought to wait.  I’m never in at the right time.”

“Confound you, why aren’t you then?” burst forth Sir Beverley.  “It’s easy to say you’re sorry, isn’t it?”

“Not always,” said Piers.

He came to the old man, bent down over him, slid a boyish arm around the bent shoulders.  “Don’t be waxy!” he coaxed.  “I couldn’t help it this time.”

“Get away, do!” said Sir Beverley, jerking himself irritably from him.  “I detest being pawed about, as you very well know.  In Heaven’s name, have your tea, if you want it!  I shan’t touch any.  It’s past my time.”

“Oh, rot!” said Piers.  “If you don’t, I shan’t.”

“Yes, you will.”  Sir Beverley pointed an imperious hand towards a table on the other side of the fire.  “Go and get it and don’t be a fool!”

“I’m not a fool,” said Piers.

“Yes, you are—­a damn fool!” Sir Beverley returned to his newspaper with the words.  “And you’ll never be anything else!” he growled into the silence that succeeded them.

Piers clattered the tea-things and said nothing.  There was no resentment visible upon his sensitive, olive face, however.  He looked perfectly contented.  He turned round after a few seconds with a cup of steaming tea in his hand.  He crossed the hearth and set it on the table at Sir Beverley’s elbow.

“That’s just as you like it, sir,” he urged.  “Have it—­just to please me!”

“Take it away!” said Sir Beverley, without raising his eyes.

“It’s only ten minutes late after all,” said Piers, with all meekness.  “I wish you hadn’t waited, though it was jolly decent of you.  You weren’t anxious of course?  You know I always turn up some time.”

“Anxious!” echoed Sir Beverley.  “About a cub like you!  You flatter yourself, my good Piers.”

Piers laughed a little and stooped over the blaze.  Sir Beverley read on for a few moments, then very suddenly and not without violence crumpled his paper and flung it on the ground.

“Of all the infernal, ridiculous twaddle!” he exclaimed.  “Now what the devil have you done to yourself?  Been taking a water-jump?”

Piers turned round.  “No, sir.  It’s nothing.  I shouldn’t have come in in this state, only it was late, and I thought I’d better report myself.”

“Nothing!” repeated Sir Beverley.  “Why, you’re drenched to the skin!  Go and change!  Go and change!  Don’t stop to argue!  Do you hear me, sir?  Go and change!”

He shouted the last words, and Piers flung round on his heel with a hint of impatience.

“And behave yourself!” Sir Beverley threw after him.  “If you think I’ll stand any impertinence from you, you were never more mistaken in your life.  Be off with you, you cheeky young hound!  Don’t let me see you again till you’re fit to be seen!”