As Olga stood at the door, there came out,
showily dressed for walking, a person in whom she at once recognised
the original of the portrait at Miss Bonnicastle's. It was no other
than Mrs. Otway, the "Biddy" whose simple singing had so pleased her
brother-in-law years ago.
"Is it the agent you want to see?" she asked, in her tongue of
County Wexford. "The door to the right."
Alexander jumped up, all smiles at the sight of so grand a lady. He
had grown very obese, and very red about the neck; his linen might
have been considerably cleaner, and his coat better brushed. But he
seemed in excellent spirits, and glowed when his visitor began by
saying that she wished to speak in confidence of a delicate matter.
"Mr. Otway, you have an elder brother, his name Daniel."
The listener's countenance fell.
"Madam, I'm sorry to say I have."
"He has written to me, more than once, a begging letter. My name
doesn't matter; I'll only say now that he used to know me slightly
long ago. I wish to ask you whether he is really in want."
Alexander hesitated, with much screwing of the features.
"Well, he may be, now and then," was his reply at length. "I have
helped him, but, to tell the truth, it's not much good. So far as I
know, he has no regular supplies--but it's his own fault."
"Exactly." Olga evidently approached a point still more delicate. "I
presume he has worn out the patience of _both_ brothers?"
"Ah!" The agent shook his head, "I'm sorry to say that the _other's_
patience--I see you know something of our family circumstances--
never allowed itself to be tried.
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