"No use for you!" Sir Beverley's voice rose. "What the—what the devil does she want then, I should like to know?"
"She doesn't want anyone," said Piers. "At least she thinks she doesn't.
You see, she's been married before."
There was a species of irony in his voice that yet was without bitterness. He turned back to his aimless stirring of the fire, and there fell a silence between them.
But Sir Beverley's eyes were fixed upon his grandson's face in a close, unsparing scrutiny. "So you thought you might as well come back," he said at last.
"She made me," said Piers, without looking round.
"Made you!"
Again Piers nodded. "I was to tell you from her that she quite understands your attitude; but that you needn't be anxious, as she has no intention of marrying again."
"Confound her impudence!" ejaculated Sir Beverley.
"Oh no!" Piers' voice sounded too tired to be indignant. "I don't think you can accuse her of that. There has never been any flirtation between us. It wasn't her fault. I—made a fool of myself. It just happened in the ordinary course of things."
He ceased to speak, laid down the poker without sound, and sat with clasped hands, staring blindly before him.