The friendship which had existed
between them since his boyhood was true and deep as ever; Piers
Otway could, as few men can, be the loyal friend of a woman. A
reverent tenderness coloured his feeling towards Mrs. Hannaford; it
was something like what he would have felt for his mother had she
now been living. He did not give much thought to her character or
circumstances; she had always been kind to him, and he in turn had
always liked her: that was enough. Anything in her service that
might fall within his power to do, he would do right gladly.
"So you saw poor Olga?"
"Yes, and the friend she lives with--and Mr. Kite."
"Ah! Mr. Kite!" The speaker's face brightened. "I have news about
him; it came this morning. He has gone to Paris, and means to stay
there."
"Indeed! I heard no syllable of that the other day."
"But it is true. And Olga's letter to me, in which she mentions it;
gives hope that that is the end of their engagement. Naturally, the
poor child won't say it in so many words, but it is to be read
between the lines. What's more, she is willing to come for her
holiday with me! It has made me very happy!--I told you I was
going to Malvern; my brother thinks that is most likely to do me
good. Irene will go down with me, and stay a day or two, and then I
hope to have Olga. It is delightful! I hadn't dared to hope. Perhaps
we shall really come together again, after this dreary time!"
Piers was listening, but with a look which had become uneasily
preoccupied.
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