The vigorous splashing within came to a sudden stop. "That you, sir?" called Piers.
"Of course it's me!" shouted back Sir Beverley, shaking the door with fierce impatience. "Damn it, let me in! I'll force the door if you don't."
"No, don't, sir; don't! I'm coming!"
There came the sound of a splashing leap, and bare feet raced across the bathroom floor. The door was wrenched from Sir Beverley's grasp, and flung open. Piers, quite naked, stood back and bowed him in with elaborate ceremony.
Sir Beverley entered and glared at him.
Piers shut the door and took a flying jump back into the bath. The room was dense with steam.
"You don't mind if I go on with my wash, do you?" he said. "I shall be late for dinner if I don't."
"What in thunder do you want to boil yourself like this for?" demanded
Sir Beverley.
Piers, seated with his hands clasped round his knees, looked up with the smile of an infant. "It suits my constitution, sir," he said. "I freeze myself in the morning and boil myself at night—always. By that means I am rendered impervious to all atmospheric changes of temperature."
"You're a fool, Piers," said Sir Beverley.