s own
convenience.

It gave Piers--what he needed badly--something new to think about. From
what he remembered of Alexander, he did not dislike him, and this
letter made, on the whole, an agreeable impression; but he remembered
Daniel's warning. In any case, there could be no harm in calling on his
brother; it made an excuse for a day in London, the country stillness
having driven him all but to frenzy. So he replied at once, saying that
he would call on the following afternoon.

Alexander occupied the top floor of a great old house in Theobald's
Road. Whether he was married or not, Piers had not heard; the
appearance of the place suggested bachelor quarters, but, as he knocked
at what seemed the likely door, there sounded from within an infantine
wail, which became alarmingly shrill when the door was thrown open by a
dirty little girl. At sight of Piers this young person, evidently a
servant, drew back smiling, and said with a strong Irish accent:

"Please to come in. They're expecting of you."

He passed into a large room, magnificently lighted by the sunshine, but
very simply furnished. A small round table, two or three chairs and a
piano were lost on the great floor, which had no carpeting, only a
small Indian rug being displayed as a thing of beauty, in the very
middle. There were no pictures, but here and there, to break the
surface of the wall, strips of bright-coloured material were hung from
the cornice. At the table, next the window, sat a man writing, also, as
his lips showed, whistling a tune; and on the bare boards beside him
sat a young woman with her baby on her lap, another child, of two or
three years old, amusing itself by pulling her dishevelled hair.

"Here's your brother, Mr. Otw'y," yelled the little servant. "Give that
baby to me, mum. I know what'll quoiet him, bless his little heart."

Alexander sprang up, waving his arm in welcome. He was a stoutish man
of middle height, with thick curly auburn hair, and a full beard;
geniality beamed from his blue eyes.

"Is it yourself, Piers?" he shouted, with utterance suggestive of the
Emerald Isle, though the man was so loudly English. "It does me good to
set eyes on you, upon my soul, it does! I knew you'd come. Didn't I say
he'd come, Biddy?--Piers, this is my wife, Bridget the best wife living
in all the four quarters of the world!"

Mrs. Otway had risen, and stood smiling, the picture of cordiality. She
was not a beauty, though the black hair