He knew so little of the man, of his
pursuits, his society, his prospects or ambitions. But he could not
imagine that Irene's love would be given to any man of ordinary
type; there must be a nobility in John Jacks' son, and indeed,
knowing the father, one could readily believe it. Piers suffered a
cruel sense of weakness, of littleness, by comparison.
And Arnold behaved so well to him, with such frank graceful
courtesy; to withhold the becoming return was to feel oneself a
shrinking creature, basely envious.
It was at Mrs. Hannaford's suggestion that he asked to be allowed to
call on Olga. A few days later, having again exchanged letters with
Irene's aunt, he sat writing in the office after business hours, his
door and that of the anteroom both open. Footsteps on the staircase
had become infrequent since the main exodus of clerks; he listened
whenever there was a sound, and looked towards the entrance. There,
at length, appeared a lady, Mrs. Hannaford herself. Piers went
forward, and greeted her without words, motioning her with his hand
into the inner office; the outer door he latched.
"So I have tracked you to your lair!" exclaimed the visitor, with a
nervous laugh, as she sank in fatigue upon the chair he placed for
her. "I looked for your name on the wall downstairs, forgetting that
you are Moncharmont & Co."
"It is very, very kind of you to have taken all this trouble!"
He saw in her face the signs of ill-health for which he was
prepared, and noticed with pain her tremulousness and shortness of
breath after the stair-climbing.
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