"I believe Miss Derwent is in the room," was the answer, uttered
with singular gravity and accompanied with a particularly freezing
look.
This time, Piers could not but feel that Eustace Derwent was
speaking oddly. In his peculiar condition, however, he thought it
only an amusing characteristic of the young man. He smiled, and was
about to continue the dialogue, when, with a slight, quick bow, the
other turned away.
"Disagreeable fellow, that!" said Piers to himself. "I hope the
Doctor isn't like him. Who could imagine him Irene's brother?"
His spirits were not in the least affected; indeed, every moment
they grew more exuberant, as the wine he had drunk wrought
progressively upon his brain. Only he could have wished that his
cheeks and ears did not burn so; seeing himself again in a glass, he
decided that he was really too high-coloured. It would pass, no
doubt. Meanwhile, his eyes kept seeking Miss Derwent. The longer she
escaped him, the more vehement grew his agitation. Ah, there!
She was seated, and had been hidden by a little group standing in
front. At this moment, Eustace Derwent was bending to speak to her;
she gave a nod in reply to what he said. As soon as the
objectionable brother moved from her side, Piers stepped quickly
forward.
"How delightful to meet you here! It seems too good to be true. I
called this afternoon at your house--called to see you--but you
were not at home.
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