The clouds parted; a fresh breeze unveiled the summer blue. Piers
stood at the window, watching; and at length he had his reward; the
cousins came out and walked along the garden paths, conversing
intimately. At one moment, Olga gave a glance up at his window, and
he darted back, fearful of having been detected. Were they talking
of him? How would Miss Derwent speak of him? Did he interest her in
the least?
He peeped again. Irene was standing with her hands linked at the
back of her head, seeming to gaze at a lovely cloud above the great
elm tree. This attitude showed her to perfection. Piers felt sick
and dizzy as his eyes fed upon her form.
At an impulse as sudden as irresistible, he pushed up the sash.
"Miss Hannaford! It's going to be fine, you see."
The girls turned to him with surprise.
"Shall you have a walk after lunch?" he continued.
"Certainly," replied Olga. "We were just talking about it."
A moment's pause--then:
"Would you let me go with you?"
"Of course--if you can really spare the time."
"Thank you."
He shut down the window, turned away, stood in an agony of shame.
Why had he done this absurd thing? Was it not as good as telling
them that he had been spying? Irene's absolute silence meant
disapproval, perhaps annoyance. And Olga's remark about his ability
to spare time had hinted the same thing: her tone was not quite
natural; she averted her look in speaking.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82