"I told him she was his for the asking, sir," he said coolly, "and promised not to flirt with her any more till they were safely married."
"Damn you!" exclaimed Sir Beverley violently and without warning.
He had a glass of wine in front of him, and with the words his fingers gripped the stem. In another second he would have hurled the liquid full in Piers' face; but Piers was too quick for him. Quick as lightning, his own hand shot out across the corner of the table and grasped the old man's wrist.
"No, sir! No!" he said sternly.
They glared into each other's eyes, and Sir Beverley uttered a furious oath; but after the first instinctive effort to free himself he did no more.
At the end of possibly thirty seconds Piers took his hand away. He pushed back his chair in the same movement and rose.
"Shall we talk in the library?" he said. "This room is hot."
Sir Beverley raised the wine-glass to his lips with a hand that shook, and drained it deliberately.
"Yes," he said then, "We will—talk in the library."
He got up with an agility that he seldom displayed, and turned to the door. As he went he glanced up suddenly at the softly mocking face on the wall, and a sharp spasm contracted his harsh features. But he scarcely paused. Without further words he left the room; and Piers followed, light of tread, behind him.