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Derwent to tend the invalid. Thereupon Irene took leave of her aunt, promising to come again on the morrow, and went downstairs, where she exchanged a few words with her cousin. They spoke of Piers Otway's letter. "Pleasant for us, isn't it?" said Olga, with a dreary smile. "Picture us entertaining friends who call!" Irene embraced her gently, bade her be hopeful, and said good-bye.
She remembered how ill her mistress had succeeded when she, Anna, had tried to teach her to do this kind of work some sixteen to seventeen years ago. After a very little while Mrs. Otway had given up trying to do it, knowing that she could never rival her good old Anna. Mrs. Otway's lace had been so rough, so uneven; a tiny pull, and it became all stringy and out of shape.
Otway's only comment on hearing that Jervis Blake had written Rose a postcard from France, had been the words, said feelingly, and with a sigh, "Ah, well! So he has gone out too? He is very young to see something of real war. But I expect that it will make a man of him, poor boy."
The hostess herself shone by quality of intellect rather than by charm of feature; she greeted him with subtlest flattery, a word or two of simple friendliness in her own language, and was presenting him to her husband, when, from the doorway, sounded a name which made Otway's heart leap, and left him tongue-tied. "Mrs. Borisoff and Miss Derwent."
St. Peter, A. D. 42. Ends N. Brit. Rev., 11, 135. with Pius IX., 1846. Pius VII., at Notre Dame, in For. Quart. Rev., 20, 54. Paris, Dec. 2, 1804. Probably Pepin le Bref is meant. But he was not crowned by a Pope. Crowned by Archbishop Boniface of Mayence, at the advice of Pope Zachary. b. @ 715. d. 768. 452 to 1815. St. Real's History. Quart. Rev. 31, 420. Otway's Tragedy, Venice Preserved.
When he had welcomed his visitor, Kite pointed to the bottle. "I got used to it in Paris," he said, "and it helps me to work. I shan't offer you any, or you might be made ill; the cheapest claret on the market, but it reminds me of of things." There rose in Otway's mind a suspicion that, to-day at all events, Kite had found his cheap claret rather too seductive.
The hope was sheer feebleness of spirit. He spurned it; he desired no one's compassion. How would Irene regard the fact of his illegitimacy? Not, assuredly, from Mrs. Otway's point of view; she was a century ahead of that. Possibly she was capable of dismissing it as indifferent. But he could not be certain of her freedom from social prejudice.
She looked taller; she stepped with a more graceful assurance, and in offering her hand, betrayed consciousness of Otway's admiration in a little flush that well became her. She had subdued her voice, chastened her expressions. The touch of masculinity on which she had prided herself in her later "Bohemian" days, was quite gone.
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.
He had a certain claim on the kindness of the ladies of the Trellis House, for his mother had been a girl friend of Mrs. Otway's. Most people, as Rose was well aware, found his conversation boring. But it always interested her. In fact Rose Otway was the one person in Witanbury who listened with real pleasure to what Jervis Blake had to say.
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