"Let him say what he will; it doesn't matter now. But how comes it
that he is poor?"
"That I should like to know." Piers threw a pebble into the still,
brown water near him. "Five years ago, he came into a substantial
sum of money. I suppose--it went very quickly. Daniel is not
exactly a prudent man."
"I imagine not," remarked Irene, allowing herself a glimpse of his
countenance, which she found to be less calm than his tone. "Let us
have done with him. Five years ago," she added, with soft accents,
"some of that money ought to have been yours, and you received
nothing."
"Nothing was legally due to me," he answered, in a voice lower than
hers.
"That I know. I mention it--you will forgive me?--because I have
sometimes feared that you might explain to yourself wrongly my
failure to reply when you sent me those verses, long ago. I have
thought, lately, that you might suppose I knew certain facts at that
time. I didn't; I only learnt them afterwards. At no time would it
have made any difference."
Piers could not speak.
"Look!" said Irene, in a whisper, pointing.
A great dragon-fly, a flash of blue, had dropped on to the surface
of the pool, and lay floating. As they watched it rose, to drop
again upon a small stone amid a shallow current; half in, half out
of, the sunny water, it basked.
"Oh, how lovely everything is!" exclaimed Irene, in a voice that
quivered low.
Pages:
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475