To his grandfather alone he could submit without any visible wound to his pride.

Who could help glorying in a boy like that?
David the butler, a man of infinite respectability, came softly into the hall and approached his master.
"Are you ready for dinner, Sir Beverley ?" "No," snapped Sir Beverley.

"Can't you see Master Piers isn't here ?" "Very good, sir," murmured David, and retired decorously, fading into the background without the faintest sound, while Caesar the Dalmatian who had entered with him lay sedately down in well-bred silence at Sir Beverley's feet.
There fell a pause, while Sir Beverley's eyes returned to the wide oak staircase, watching it ceaselessly, with vulture-like intentness.

Then after the passage of minutes, there came the sound of feet that literally scampered along the corridor above, and in a moment, with meteor-like suddenness, Piers flashed into view.
He seemed to descend the stairs without touching them, and was greeted at the foot by Caesar, who leapt to meet him with wide-mouthed delight.
"Hullo, you scamp, hullo!" laughed Piers, responding to the dog's caresses with a careless hand.

"Out of the way with you! I'm late." "As usual," observed Sir Beverley, leaning slowly forward, still with his eyes unblinkingly fixed upon his grandson's merry face.