She saw his approach, and held her hand to him
as if they had met only the other day. That her complexion was a
little warmer than its wont, Piers had no power of perceiving; he
saw only her eyes, soft-shining as they rose to his, in their depths
an infinite gentleness.
"How glad lam that you got my letter just before leaving
Petersburg!"
"How kind of you to introduce me to Mrs. Borisoff!"
"I thought you would soon be friends."
It was all they could say. At this moment, the host murmured his
request that Otway would take down Mrs. Borisoff; the hostess led up
someone to be introduced to Miss Derwent. Then the procession began.
Piers was both disappointed and relieved. To have felt the touch
upon his arm of Irene's hand would have been a delight unutterable,
yet to desire it was presumption. He was not worthy of that
companionship; it would have been unjust to Irene to oblige her to
sit by him through the dinner, with the inevitable thoughts rising
in her mind. Better to see her from a distance--though it was hard
when she smiled at the distinguished and clever-looking man who
talked, talked. It cost him, at first, no small effort to pay
becoming attention to Mrs. Borisoff; the lady on his other hand, a
brilliant beauty, moved him to a feeling almost hostile--he knew
not why. But as the dinner progressed, as the kindly vintage circled
in his blood, he felt the stirrings of a deep joy.
Pages:
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430