At sunrise, Piers dressed himself, and made ready for his journey.
He was worn with fever, had no more strength to hope or to desire.
His body was a mechanism which must move and move.
CHAPTER XV
In the saloon of a homeward-bound steamer, twenty-four hours from
port, and that port Southampton, a lady sat writing letters. Her age
was about thirty; her face was rather piquant than pretty; she had
the air of a person far too intelligent and spirited to be involved
in any life of mere routine, on whatever plane. Two letters she had
written in French, one in German, and that upon which she was now
engaged was in English, her native tongue; it began "Dearest
Mother."
"All's well. A pleasant and a quick voyage. The one incident of it
which you will care to hear about is that I have made friends--a
real friendship, I think--with a delightful girl, of
respectability which will satisfy even you. Judge for yourself; she
is the daughter of Dr. Derwent, a distinguished scientific man, who
has been having a glimpse of Colonial life. When we were a day or
two out I found that Miss Derwent was the object of special
interest; she and her father had been the guests of no less a
personage than Trafford Romaine, and it was reported that the great
man had offered her marriage! Who started the rumour I don't know,
but it is quite true that Romaine _did_ propose to her--and was
refused! I am assured of it by a friend of theirs on board, Mr.
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