By his own effort
he had won reception into Irene's world. It was something; it was
much--remembering all that had gone before.
He spoke softly to his partner.
"I am going to drink a silent health--that of my friend
Korolevitch. To him I owe everything."
"I don't believe _that_, but I will drink it too--I was speaking
of him to Miss Derwent. She wants to know all about the Dukhobortsi.
Instruct her, afterwards, if you get a chance. Do you think her
altered?"
"No--yes!"
"By the bye, how long is it really since you first knew her?"
"Eight years--just eight years."
"You speak as if it were eighty."
"Why, so it seems, when I look back. I was a boy, and had the
strangest notions of the world."
"You shall tell me all about that some day," said Mrs. Borisoff,
glancing at him. "At the Castle, perhaps----"
"Oh yes! At the Castle!"
When the company divided, and Piers had watched Irene pass out of
sight, he sat down with a tired indifference. But his host drew him
Into conversation on Russian subjects, and, as had happened before
now in gatherings of this kind, Otway presently found himself amid
attentive listeners, whilst he talked of things that interested him.
At such moments he had an irreflective courage, which prompted him
to utter what he thought without regard to anything but the common
civilities of life. His opinions might excite surprise; but they did
not give offence; for they seemed impersonal, the natural outcome of
honest and capable observation, with never a touch of national
prejudice or individual conceit.
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