Sir Beverley suffered the action with no further protest than a frown.
"You weren't so mighty anxious when I first suggested it," he grumbled.
Piers laughed. "Can't a man change his mind? I'm keen enough now."
"What do you want to go for?" Sir Beverley looked at him suspiciously.
But Piers' frank return of his look told him nothing. "I love the South as you know," he said.
"Damn it, yes!" said Sir Beverley irritably. He could never endure any mention of the Southern blood in Piers.
"And—" Piers' brown fingers grew suddenly tight upon the bony hand he had drawn over his shoulder—"I like going away with you."
"Oh, stow it, Piers!" growled Sir Beverley.
"The truth, sir!" protested Piers, with eyes that suddenly danced. "It does me good to be with you. It keeps me young."
"Young!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. "You—infant!"
Piers broke into a laugh. He looked a mere boy when he gave himself up to merriment. "And it'll do you good too," he said, "to get away from that beastly doctor who is always hanging around. I long to give him the boot whenever I see him."