r. It's nothing. I shouldn't have come in in
this state, only it was late, and I thought I'd better report myself."

"Nothing!" repeated Sir Beverley. "Why, you're drenched to the skin! Go
and change! Go and change! Don't stop to argue! Do you hear me, sir? Go
and change!"

He shouted the last words, and Piers flung round on his heel with a hint
of impatience.

"And behave yourself!" Sir Beverley threw after him. "If you think I'll
stand any impertinence from you, you were never more mistaken in your
life. Be off with you, you cheeky young hound! Don't let me see you again
till you're fit to be seen!"

Piers departed without a backward look. His lips were slightly compressed
as he went up the stairs, but before he reached his own room they were
softly whistling.

Victor, the valet, who was busily employed in laying out his evening
clothes, received him with hands upraised in horror.

_"Ah, mais, Monsieur Pierre_, how you are wet!"

"Yes, I want a bath," said Piers. "Get it quick! I must be down again in
ten minutes. So scurry, Victor, my lad!"

Victor was a cheery little rotundity of five-and-fifty. He had had the
care of Piers ever since the first fortnight of that young man's
existence, and he worshipped him with a whole-hearted devotion that was
in its way sublime. In his eyes Piers could do no wrong. He was in fact
dearer to him than his own flesh and blood.

He prepared the bath with deft celerity, and hastened back to assist in
removing his young master's boots. He exclaimed dramatically upon their
soaked condition, but Piers was in too great a hurry to give any details
regarding the cause of his plight. He whirled into the bathroom at
express speed, and was out again almost before Victor had had time to
collect his drenched garments.

Ten minutes after his departure he returned to the hall, the gay
whistle still on his lips, and trod a careless measure to its tune as
he advanced.

Sir Beverley got up stiffly from his knees on the hearth-rug and turned a
scowling face. "Well, are you decent now?"

"Quite," said Piers. He smiled as he said it, a boyish disarming smile.
"Have you had your tea, sir? Oh, I say what a brick you are! I didn't
expect that."

His eyes, travelling downwards, had caught sight of a cup pushed close to
the blaze, and a plate of crumpets beside it.

"Or deserve it," said Sir Beverley grimly.

Piers turned impulsively and took him by the shoulders. "You're a dear
old chap!"