may I say something?"

The request was so humbly uttered that she could not refuse it. She
remained where she was.

"I should like you to know," said Piers, "that I have never given
Miss Rose or any other girl with whom I have flirted the faintest
shadow of a reason for believing that I was in earnest. That is the
truth--on my honour."

"I wonder if--they--would say the same," said Avery.

He shrugged his shoulders. "No one ever before accused me of being a
lady-killer. As to your other charge against me, it was not I who
deceived my grandfather. It was he who deceived himself."

"Isn't that a distinction without a difference?" said Avery, in a
low voice.

She was beginning to wish that she had not spoken with such vehemence.
After all, what were his delinquencies to her? She almost expected him to
ask the question; but he did not.

"Do you mind explaining?" he said.

With an effort she made response. "You can't say it was honourable to let
your grandfather come home in the belief that you wanted to become
engaged to Miss Rose."

"Have I said so?" said Piers.

Avery paused. She had a sudden feeling of uncertainty as if he had kicked
away a foothold upon which she had rashly attempted to rest.

"You admit that it was not?" she said.

He smiled a little. "I admit that it was not strictly honest, but I
didn't see much harm in it. In any case it was high time we came home,
and it gave him the impetus to move."

"And when are you going to tell him the truth?" said Avery.

Piers was silent.

Looking at him through the dusk, she was aware of a change in his
demeanour, though as to its nature she was slightly doubtful.

"And if I don't tell him?" said Piers at length.

"You will," she said quickly.

"I don't know why I should." Piers' voice was dogged. "He'll know fast
enough--when she gets engaged to Guyes."

"Know that you have played a double game," said Avery.

"Well?" he said. "And if he does?"

"I think you will be sorry--then," she said.

Somehow she could not be angry any longer. He had accepted her rebuke in
so docile a spirit. She did not wholly understand his attitude. Yet it
softened her.

"Why should I be sorry?" said Piers.

She answered him quickly and impulsively. "Because it isn't your nature
to deceive. You are too honest at heart to do it and be happy."

"Happy!" said Piers, an odd note of emotion in his voice. "Do you suppose
I'm ever that--or ever likely to be?"

She reco