Yet there was another change less pleasing to the young
man; Irene talked as though either she had become older, or he
younger. She counselled him with serious kindness, urged him to make
rational rules about study and recreation.
"You're overdoing it, you know. To-day you don't look very well."
"I had no sleep last night," he replied abruptly, shunning her gaze.
"That's bad. You weren't so foolish as to try to make up for lost
time?"
"No, no! I _couldn't_ sleep."
He reddened, hung his head. Miss Derwent grew almost maternal. This,
she pointed out, was the natural result of nerves overstrained. He
must really use common sense. Come now, would he promise?
"I will promise you anything!"
Olga glanced quickly at him from one side; Irene, on the other,
looked away with a slight smile.
"No," she said, "you shall promise Miss Hannaford. She will have you
under observation; whereas you might play tricks with me after I'm
gone. Olga, be strict with this young gentleman. He is well-meaning,
but he vacillates; at times he even tergiversates--a shocking
thing."
There was laughter, but Piers suffered. He felt humiliated. Had he
been alone with Miss Derwent, he might have asserted his manhood,
and it would have been _her_ turn to blush, to be confused. He had a
couple of years more than she. The trouble was that he could not
feel this superiority of age; she treated him like a schoolboy, and
to himself he seemed one.
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