He stopped abruptly, and in the silence Piers shut and relocked the drawer. He dropped the key into his own pocket, and came back to the fire.
Sir Beverley looked up at him with something of an effort. "Boy," he said, "you've got to marry some day, I know. You've got to have children. But—you're young, you know. There's plenty of time before you. You might wait a bit—just a bit—till I'm out of the way. I won't keep you long; and I won't beat you often either—if you'll condescend to stay with me."
He smiled with the words, his own grim ironical smile; but the pathos of it cut straight to Piers' heart. He went down on his knees beside the old man and thrust his arm about the shrunken shoulders.
"I'll never leave you again, sir," he vowed earnestly. "I've been a heartless brute, and I'm most infernally sorry. As to marrying, well—there's no more question of that for me. I couldn't marry Ina Rose. You understand that?"
"Never liked the chit," growled Sir Beverley. "Only thought she'd answer your purpose better than some. For you've got to get an heir, boy; remember that! You're the only Evesham left."
"Oh, damn!" said Piers very wearily. "What does it matter?"
Sir Beverley looked at him from under his thick brows piercingly but without condemnation. "It's up to you, Piers," he said.
"Is it?" said Piers, with a groan. "Well, let's leave it at that for the present! Sure you've forgiven me?"
Sir Beverley's grim face relaxed again. He put his arm round Piers and held him hard for a moment.
Then: "Oh, drat it, Piers!" he said testily. "Get away, do! And behave yourself for the future!"