The voice, the
glance, the phrases jarred upon him, shocked him. Already he had
begun "I am afraid"--when a hurried, vehement whisper broke upon
his excuse.
"Don't be unkind to me! I beg you to come! I entreat you!"
"I will come with pleasure," he said in a loud voice of ordinary
civility.
At once she turned, and he followed. Without speaking, they
descended the great staircase; a brougham drove up; they rolled away
westward. Never had Piers felt such thorough moral discomfort; the
heavily perfumed air of the carriage depressed and all but nauseated
him; the inevitable touch of Olga's garments made him shrink. She
had begun to talk, and talked incessantly throughout the homeward
drive; not much of herself, or of him, but about the pleasures and
excitements of the idle-busy world. It was meant, he supposed, to
convey to him an idea of her prosperous and fashionable life. Her
husband, she let fall, was for the moment in Italy; affairs of
importance sometimes required his presence there; but they both
preferred England. The intellectual atmosphere of London--where
else could one live on so high a level?
The carriage stopped in a street beyond Edgware Road, at a house of
more modest appearance than Otway had looked for. Just as they
alighted, a nursemaid with a perambulator was approaching the door;
Piers caught sight of a very pale little face shadowed by the hood,
but his companion, without heeding, ran up the steps, and knocked
violently.
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