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