Whilst his wife still lived, Dr.
Derwent had not been able to afford a painting of her; this drawing
was done and well done, in the after days from photographs. On the
wall beneath it was a little bracket, supporting a little glass
vessel which held a rose. The year round, this tiny altar never
lacked its flower.
Mrs. Hannaford entered. Her smile of greeting was not untroubled,
but seeing her for the first time somewhat ornately clad, and with
suitable background, Piers was struck by the air of youth that
animated her features. He had always admired Mrs. Hannaford, had
always liked her, and as she took his hand in both her own, he felt
a warm response to her unfeigned kindliness.
"Well, is it settled?"
"It is settled. I go back to Odessa, remain with the firm for
another six months, then make the great launch!"
They laughed together, both nervously. Piers' eyes wandered, and
Mrs. Hannaford, as she sat down, made an obvious effort to compose
herself.
"I didn't ask you, the other day," she began, as if on a sudden
thought, "whether you had seen either of your brothers."
Piers shook his head, smiling.
"No. Alexander, I hear, is somewhere in the North, doing provincial
journalism. Daniel--I believe he is in London, but I'm not very
likely to meet him."
"Don't you wish to?" asked the other lightly.
"Oh, I'm not very anxious. Daniel and I haven't a great interest in
each other, I'm afraid.
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