"Such a nice boy!" Mrs. Lorimer murmured to herself as she went up to the nursery.
"Poor little soul!" was Piers' inward comment as he ran down to the hall.
Here he paused, finding himself face to face with Lennox Tudor who was taking off his coat preparatory to ascending.
The doctor nodded to him without cordiality. Neither of them ever pretended to take any pleasure in the other's society.
"Are you just going?" he asked. "Your grandfather is wanting you."
"Who says so?" said Piers aggressively.
"I say so." Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers' quick frown with one equally decided.
Piers stood still in front of him. "Have you just come from the Abbey?" he demanded.
"I have." Tudor's tone was non-committal. He stood facing Piers, waiting to pass.
"What are you always going there for?" burst forth Piers, with heat. "He doesn't want you—never follows your advice, and does excellently well without it."