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Updated: June 2, 2025
At eleven o'clock, unable to endure the house, she dressed for going out, and drove to Mrs. Hannaford's. Olga was not at home. Before going into her aunt's room, Irene spoke with the nurse, who had no very comforting report to make; Mrs. Hannaford could not sleep, had not closed her eyes for some four-and-twenty hours; Dr.
"I only just heard," Dick explained. "I was down at my hangar tinkering with the Flying Fish, for, you know, I'm taking her to Cannes to-morrow. Poor Hannaford's hotel isn't far away, and he used to stroll over and talk to me sometimes. The manager knew that, and sent a boy to ask me to come in at once. He didn't say what the matter was, except that something had happened to Hannaford.
The wide-open window offered a view over the garden at the back of the house, and on the lawn he saw a little group of ladies. Seated in basket chairs, Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter were conversing with a third person whom Piers did not know, a tall, fair-faced girl who stood before them and seemed at this moment to be narrating some lively story.
Hannaford, as she sat down, made an obvious effort to compose herself. "I didn't ask you, the other day," she began, as if on a sudden thought, "whether you had seen either of your brothers." Piers shook his head, smiling. "No. Alexander, I hear, is somewhere in the North, doing provincial journalism. Daniel I believe he is in London, but I'm not very likely to meet him."
No, not even that." On their return, he found himself alone with Mrs. Hannaford for a few minutes. He spoke abruptly, with an effort. "Do you see much of the Derwents?" "Not much. Our lives are so different, you know." "Will you tell me frankly? If I called there when I come south again should I be welcome?" "Oh, why not?" replied the lady, veiling embarrassment. "I see." Otway's face darkened.
At the table, bending over a drawing-board, sat Olga Hannaford, her careless costume and the disorder of her hair suggesting that she had only just got up. She recognised her visitor with some embarrassment. "Irene I am so glad I really am ashamed we keep such hours here please don't mind!" "Not I, indeed! What is there to mind? I spoke to someone downstairs who gave me a message for you.
The letter cheered Otway's breakfast; he read it instead of the newspaper, and with vastly more benefit. Another letter had come to his private address, a note from Mrs. Hannaford. She was regaining strength, and hoped soon to come South again.
By the time he reached the hedge there and peered over, Walter had disappeared; and Jim considerably puzzled, half inclined to believe that the stranger had walked over the edge of the White Rock and broken his neck worked his way down the lateral fence beside the gully, to be brought up standing by the sight of the man he sought, safe and sound, and apparently engaged in friendly chat with Charley Hannaford.
"Oh, St. George, poor Captain Hannaford is dead!" were Rose's first words as her husband came into the drawing-room. Then she was sorry that she had flung the news at him so abruptly, for just too late she read in his eyes the wistful need of consolation. "Dead!" he echoed, almost stupidly.
"I will promise you anything!" Olga glanced quickly at him from one side; Irene, on the other, looked away with a slight smile. "No," she said, "you shall promise Miss Hannaford. She will have you under observation; whereas you might play tricks with me after I'm gone. Olga, be strict with this young gentleman.
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