It
was not a love-letter, yet differed in tone from those he had
hitherto written her; he spoke with impatience of the circumstances
which made it difficult for them to meet, and begged that it might
not be long before he saw her again. Olga's reply came quickly; it
was frankly intimate, with no suggestion of veiled feeling. Her
mother's letters, she said, were in Dr. Derwent's hands. "I told him
who had given them to me, and how you obtained them. I doubt whether
he will have anything to say to me about them, but that doesn't
matter; he knows the truth." As for their meeting, any Sunday
afternoon he would find her at Miss Bonnicastle's, in Great Portland
Street. "I wish I were living there again," she added. "My uncle is
very kind, but I can't feel at home here, and I hope I shall not
stay very long."
So, on the next Sunday, Piers wended his way to Great Portland
Street. Arriving about three o'clock, he found the artist of the
posters sitting alone by her fire, legs crossed and cigarette in
mouth.
"Ah, Mr. Otway!" she exclaimed, turning her head to see who entered
in reply to her cry of "Don't be afraid!" Without rising, she held a
hand to him. "I didn't think I should ever see you here again. How
are you getting on? Beastly afternoon--come and warm your toes."
The walls were hung with clever brutalities of the usual kind. Piers
glanced from them to Miss Bonnicastle, speculating curiously about
her.
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