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!" he said. "Thanks awfully!"
Against its will the hard old mouth relaxed. "There, boy, there! What an
infant you are! Sit down and have it for goodness' sake! It'll be
dinner-time before you've done.
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