Dr. Derwent was trying to let it
furnished for the rest of the short lease. Olga had a fire quickly
made in the drawing-room, and ordered tea. She laid aside her
outdoor things, viewed herself more than once in a mirror, and moved
about restlessly. When there sounded a visitor's knock at the front
door, she flushed and was overcome with nervousness; she stepped
forward to meet her friend, but could not speak. Otway had taken her
hand in both his own; he looked at her with grave kindliness. It was
their first meeting since Mrs. Hannaford's death.
"I hesitated about asking you to see me here," he said. "But I
thought--I hoped----"
His embarrassment increased, whilst Olga was gaining self-command.
"You were quite right," she said. "I think I had rather see you here
than anywhere else. It isn't painful to me--oh! anything but
painful!"
They sat down. Piers was holding a large envelope, bulgy with its
contents, whatever they were, and sealed; his eyes rested upon it.
"I have to speak of something which at first will sound unwelcome to
you; but it is only the preface to what will make you very glad. It
is about my brother. I have seen him two or three times this last
week on a particular business, in which at length I have succeeded.
Here," he touched the envelope, "are all the letters he possessed in
your mother's writing."
Olga looked at him in distressful wonder and suspense.
Pages:
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370