I
felt that silence was the wise as well as the dignified thing--
though someone disagreed with me."
When Irene entered the sitting-room, her friend had long since
breakfasted.
"What's the matter?" Helen asked, seeing so pale and troubled a
countenance.
"Nothing much; I overtired myself yesterday. I must keep quiet for a
little."
Mrs. Borisoff herself was in no talkative frame of mind. She, too,
an observer might have imagined, had some care or worry. The two
very soon parted; Irene going back to her room, Helen out into the
sunshine.
A malicious letter this of Olga's; the kind of letter which Irene
had not thought her capable of penning. Could there be any
substantial reason for such hostile feeling? Oh, how one's mind
opened itself to dark suspicion, when once an evil whisper had been
admitted!
She would not believe that story of duplicity, of baseness. Her very
soul rejected it, declared it impossible, the basest calumny. Yet
how it hurt! How it humiliated! Chiefly, perhaps, because of the
evil art with which Olga had reminded her of Piers Otway's
disreputable kinsmen. Could the two elder brothers be so worthless,
and the younger an honest, brave man, a man without reproach--her
ideal?
Irene clutched at the recollection which till now she had preferred
to banish from her mind. Piers was not born of the same mother,
might he not inherit his father's finer qualities, and, together
with them, something noble from the woman whom his father loved?
Could she but know that history The woman was a law-breaker;
repeatability gave her hard names; but Irene used her own judgment
in such matters, and asked only for knowledge of facts.
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