"You look tired," he said. "I hope you don't sit up late."
She smiled at him. "Oh no! We will make Piers play to us presently, and then I will say good-night."
"Then we mustn't keep you waiting long," he said. "So Piers is a musician, is he? I didn't know."
"You had better go to bed, Avery; it's late," said Piers abruptly. "I can't play to-night. The spirit doesn't move me." He rose from the table with a careless laugh. "Say good-night to her, Crowther, and let her go! We will smoke in the garden."
There was finality in his tone, its lightness notwithstanding. Again there came to Avery the impulse to rebel, and again instinctively she caught it back. She held out her hand to Crowther.
"I am dismissed then," she said. "Good-night!"
His smile answered hers. He looked regretful, but very kindly. "I am glad to see Piers takes care of you," he said.
She laughed a little drearily as she went away, making no other response.
Crowther turned back to the table with its shaded candles and gleaming wine. He saw that Piers' glass was practically untouched.
Piers himself was searching a cabinet for cigars. He found what he sought, and turned round with the box in his hand.