course; but that's the race--the race. Things
being as they are, I would as soon see him in power as another."

Irene pondered this. It pleased her.

On the morning after Arnold's proposal, she knew that he and her father
had talked. Dr. Derwent, a shy man, rather avoided her look; but he
behaved to her with particular kindliness; as they stood looking
towards the coast of England, he drew her hand through his arm, and
stroked it once or twice--a thing he had not done on the whole journey.

"The brave old island!" he was murmuring. "I should be really disturbed
if I thought death would find me away from it. Foolish fancy, but it's
strong in me."

Irene was taciturn, and unlike herself. The approach to port enabled
her to avoid gossips, but one person, Helen Borisoff, guessed what had
happened; Irene's grave countenance and Arnold Jacks' meditative smile
partly instructed her. On the railway journey to London, Jacks had the
discretion to keep apart in a smoking-carriage. Dr. Derwent and his
daughter exchanged but few words until they found themselves in
Bryanston Square.

During their absence abroad, Mrs. Hannaford had been keeping house for
them. With brief intervals spent now and then in pursuit of health, she
had made Bryanston Square her home since the change in her
circumstances two years ago. Lee Hannaford held no communication with
her, content to draw the modest income she put at his disposal, and
Olga, her mother knew not why, was still unmarried, though declaring
herself still engaged to the man Kite. She lived here and there in
lodgings, at times seeming to maintain herself, at others accepting
help; her existence had an air of mystery far from reassuring.

On meeting her aunt, Irene found her looking ill and troubled. Mrs.
Hannaford declared that she was much as usual, and evaded inquiries.
She passed from joy at her relatives' return to a mood of silent
depression; her eyes made one think that she must have often shed tears
of late. In the past twelvemonth she had noticeably aged; her beauty
was vanishing; a nervous tremor often affected her thin hands, and in
her speech there was at times a stammering uncertainty, such as comes
of mental distress. Dr. Derwent, seeing her after two months' absence,
was gravely observant of these things.

"I wish you could find out what's troubling your aunt," he said to
Irene, next day. "Something is, and something very serious, though she
won't admit it. I'm really