He was quite capable of
the transition, she felt sure. His way of talking, the short and
generally pointed sentences in which he spoke on whatever subject,
betokened a habit of lucid reflection. Had it been permissible, she
would have dwelt with curiosity on the problem of Piers Otway's life
and thoughts; but that she resolutely ignored, strong in the
irrevocable choice which she had made only yesterday. He was
interesting, but not to her. She knew him on the surface, and cared
to know no more.
Business was a safe topic; at the first noticeable pause, Irene led
to it.
Piers laughed with pleasure as he began to describe Andre
Moncharmont. A man of the happiest vivacity, of the sweetest humour,
irresistibly amusing, yet never ridiculous--entirely competent in
business, yet with a soul as little mercantile as man's could be.
Born a French Swiss, be had lived a good deal in Italy, and had all
the charm of Italian manners; but in whatever country, he made
himself at home, and by virtue of his sunny temper saw only the best
in each nationality. His recreation was music, and he occasionally
composed.
"There is a song of Musset's--you know it, perhaps--beginning
'_Quand on perd, par triste occurrence_'--which he has set, to my
mind, perfectly. I want him to publish it. If he does I must let you
see it."
Irene did not know the verses and made no remark.
"There are English men of business," pursued Otway, "who would smile
with pity at Moncharmont.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245