d assisted him! He thought of Daniel and Alexander. Was he, too,
going to drift in life, instead of following a steadfast, manly course?
The perception and fear of such a danger were something new to him.
Piers had seen himself as an example of moral and intellectual vigour.
His abandonment of commerce had shown as a strong step in practical
wisdom; the fourteen hours of daily reading had flattered his pride.
Thereupon came this sudden collapse of the whole scheme. He could no
longer endure the prospects for which he had toiled so strenuously.

But for shame, he would have bundled together all the books that lay on
his table, and have flung them out of sight.

In the afternoon, he sought a private conversation with Mrs. Hannaford.
It was not easily managed, as Hannaford and Olga were both at home;
but, by watching and waiting, he caught a moment when the lady stood
alone in the garden.

"Do you think," he asked, with tremulous, sudden speech, "that I might
call at Dr. Derwent's?"

"Why not?" was the answer, but given with troubled countenance. "You
mean"--she smiled--"call upon Miss Derwent. There would be no harm; she
is the lady of the house, at present."

"Would she be annoyed?"

"I don't see why. But of course I can't answer for another person in
such things."

Their eyes met. Mrs. Hannaford gazed at him sadly for an instant, shook
her head, and turned away. Piers went back to lonely misery.

Early next day he stole from the house, and went to London. His
business was at the tailor's; he ordered a suit of ceremony--the frock
coat on which his brother Daniel had so pathetically insisted--and
begged that it might be ready at the earliest possible moment. Next he
made certain purchases in haberdashery. Through it all, he had a most
oppressive feeling of self-contempt, which--Piers was but
one-and-twenty--he did not try to analyze. Every shop-mirror which
reflected him seemed to present a malicious caricature; he hurried away
on to the pavement, small, ignoble, silly. His heart did battle, and at
moments assailed him in a triumph of heroic desire; but then again came
the sinking moments, the sense of a grovelling fellowship with people
he despised.

It was raining. His shopping done, he entered an omnibus, which took
him as far as the Marble Arch; thence, beneath his umbrella, he walked
in search of Bryanston Square. Here was Dr. Derwent's house. Very much
like a burglar, a beginner at the business, making su