"Not really. She said she thought he wasn't quite pleased with you. I do hope he didn't think it was your fault."
"My shoulders are fairly broad," said Piers.
"Yes, but it wouldn't be right," maintained Jeanie. "I think I ought to write to him and explain."
"No, no!" said Piers. "You leave the old chap alone. He understands—quite as much as he wants to understand."
There was a note of bitterness in his voice which Jeanie was quick to discern. She reached up a sympathetic hand to his. "Dear Sir Galahad!" she said softly.
Piers looked down at her for a few moments in silence. And then, very suddenly, moved by the utter devotion that looked back at him from her eyes, he went down on his knees beside her and held her to his heart.
"It's a beast of a world, Jeanie," he said.
"Is it?" whispered Jeanie, with his hand pressed tight against her cheek.
There was silence between them for a little space; then she lifted her face to his, to murmur in a motherly tone, "I expect you're tired."
"Tired!" said Piers with gloomy vehemence. "Yes, I am tired—sick to death of everything. I'm like a dog on a chain. I can see what I want, but it's always just out of my reach."