His
brain was on fire with the old passion newly kindled. He spoke, he
was beginning to converse; the room grew real again; he was aware
once more of Mrs. Hannaford's presence, of a look she had fixed upon
him. A look half amused, half compassionate; he answered it with a
courageous smile.
Miss Derwent was in her happiest mood; impossible to be kinder and
friendlier in that merry way of hers. Scarce having expected to meet
her, still keeping in his mind the anguish of that calamitous and
shameful night three years ago when he fled before her grave
reproof, Piers beheld her and listened to her with such a sense of
passionate gratitude that he feared lest some crazy word should
escape him. That Irene remembered, no look or word of hers
suggested; unless, indeed, the perfection of her kindness aimed at
assuring him that the past was wholly past. She made inquiry about
his father's health; she spoke of his life at Odessa, and was full
of interest when he sketched his projects. To crown all, she said,
with her eyes smiling upon him:
"My father would so like to know you; could you dine with us one
evening before you go?"
Piers declared his absolute freedom for a week to come.
"Suppose, then, we say Thursday? An old friend of ours will be with
us, whom you may like to meet."
She spoke a name which surprised and delighted him; that of a
scientific man known the world over.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168