"I don't know why you should say that," said Ina. "It ought to matter—anyhow to your grandfather. Why don't you make him go by himself?"
Piers laughed a careless laugh, still boldly watching her. "That wouldn't be very dutiful of me, would it?" he said.
"I suppose you're not afraid of him?" said Ina, who knew not the meaning of the word.
"Why should you suppose that?" said Piers.
She met his look in momentary surprise. "To judge by the way you behaved the other day, I should say you were not."
Piers frowned. "Which day?"
Ina explained without embarrassment. "The day that girl held up the whole
Hunt in Holland's meadow. My word, Piers, how furious the old man was!
Does he often behave like that?"
Piers still frowned. His fingers were working restlessly at the ivory sticks of her fan. "If you mean, does he often thrash me with a horsewhip, no, he doesn't," he said shortly. "And he wouldn't have done it then if I'd had a hand to spare. I'm glad you enjoyed the spectacle. Hope you were all edified."
"You needn't be waxy," said Ina calmly. "I assure you, you never showed to greater advantage. I hope your lady friend was duly grateful to her deliverer. I rather liked her pluck, Piers. Who is she?"
There was a sudden crack between Piers' fingers. He looked down hastily, and in a moment displayed three broken ivory fan-sticks to the girl beside him. "I'm horribly sorry, Ina," he said.