"Do you hear?" rapped out Sir Beverley.
Piers bent his head. "What about the hunting?" he said.
"Damn the hunting!" growled Sir Beverley.
Piers was silent a moment. Then: "I suggested it to you myself, didn't
I?" he said deliberately, "six weeks ago. And you wouldn't hear of it."
"Confound your impertinence!" began Sir Beverley. But abruptly Piers raised his eyes, and he stopped. "What do you mean?" he said, in a calmer tone.
Very steadily Piers met his look. "That's a question I should like to ask, sir," he said. "Why do you want to go abroad? Aren't you well?"
"I am perfectly well," declared Sir Beverley, who furiously resented any enquiry as to his health. "Can't a man take it into his head that he'd like a change from this beastly damp hole of a country without being at death's door, I should like to know?"
"You generally have a reason for what you do, sir," observed Piers.
"Of course I have a reason," flung back Sir Beverley.
A faint smile touched the corners of Piers' mouth. "But I am not to know what it is, what?" he asked.