“Have I said so?” said Piers.

Avery paused.  She had a sudden feeling of uncertainty as if he had kicked away a foothold upon which she had rashly attempted to rest.

“You admit that it was not?” she said.

He smiled a little.  “I admit that it was not strictly honest, but I didn’t see much harm in it.  In any case it was high time we came home, and it gave him the impetus to move.”

“And when are you going to tell him the truth?” said Avery.

Piers was silent.

Looking at him through the dusk, she was aware of a change in his demeanour, though as to its nature she was slightly doubtful.

“And if I don’t tell him?” said Piers at length.

“You will,” she said quickly.

“I don’t know why I should.”  Piers’ voice was dogged.  “He’ll know fast enough—­when she gets engaged to Guyes.”

“Know that you have played a double game,” said Avery.

“Well?” he said.  “And if he does?”

“I think you will be sorry—­then,” she said.

Somehow she could not be angry any longer.  He had accepted her rebuke in so docile a spirit.  She did not wholly understand his attitude.  Yet it softened her.

“Why should I be sorry?” said Piers.

She answered him quickly and impulsively.  “Because it isn’t your nature to deceive.  You are too honest at heart to do it and be happy.”

“Happy!” said Piers, an odd note of emotion in his voice.  “Do you suppose I’m ever that—­or ever likely to be?”

She recoiled a little from the suppressed vehemence of his tone, but almost instantly he put out his hand again to her with a gesture of boyish persuasion.

“Don’t rag me, Avery!  I’ve had a filthy time lately.  And when I saw you cut and run at sight of me—­I just couldn’t stand it.  I’ve been wanting to answer your letter, but I couldn’t.”

“But why should you?” Avery broke in gently.  “My letter was the answer to yours.”

She gave him her hand, because she could not help it.

He held it in a hungry clasp.  “I know—­I know,” he said rather incoherently.  “It—­it was very decent of you not to be angry.  I believe I let myself go rather—­what?  Thanks awfully for being so sweet about it!”

“My dear boy,” Avery said, “you thank me for nothing!  The matter is past.  Don’t let us re-open it!”

She spoke with unconscious appeal.  His hand squeezed hers in instant response.  “All right.  We won’t.  And look here,—­if you want me to tell my grandfather that he has been building his castle in the air,—­it’ll mean a row of course, but—­I’ll do it.”

“Will you?” said Avery.

He nodded.  “Yes—­as you wish it.  And may I come to tea with Jeanie to-morrow?”

His dark eyes smiled suddenly into hers as he dropped her hand.  She had a momentary feeling of uncertainty as she met them—­a sense of doubt that disquieted her strangely.  It was as if he had softly closed a door against her somewhere in his soul.