rawn to him. But
then I needed no such proof of her feeling--if it is _certain_ that she
is going to marry him. Could I imagine her marrying a man for any
reason but one? Surely you could not?"

"No--no----"

The denial had a certain lack of emphasis. Otway's eyes flashed.

"You doubt? You speak in that way of Irene Derwent?"

Gazing into Mrs. Hannaford's face, he saw rising tears. She gave a
little laugh, which did not disguise her emotion as she answered him.

"Oh, what an idealist it makes a man!--don't talk of your unworthiness.
If some women are good, it is because they try hard to be what the best
men think them. No, no, I have no doubts of Irene. And that is why it
really grieves me to see you still hoping. She would never have gone so
far----"

"But there's the very question!" cried Piers excitedly. "Who knows how
far she has gone? It may be the merest conjecture on your part, and her
father's. People are so ready to misunderstand a girl who respects
herself enough to be free and frank in her association with men. Let me
shame myself by making a confession. Five years ago, when I all but
went mad about her, I was contemptible enough to think she had treated
me cruelly." He gave a scornful laugh. "You know what I mean. At Ewell,
when I lived only for my books, and she drew me away from them.
Conceited idiot! And she so bravely honest, so simple and direct, so
human! Was it _her_ fault if I lost my head?"

"She certainly changed the whole course of your life," said Mrs.
Hannaford thoughtfully.

"True, she did. And to my vast advantage! What should I have become? A
clerkship at Whitehall--heaven defend us! At best a learned pedant, in
my case. She sent me out into the world, where there is always hope.
She gave me health and sanity. Above all, she set before me an ideal
which has never allowed me to fall hopelessly--never will let me become
a contented brute! If she never addresses another word to me, I shall
owe her an infinite debt as long as I live. And I want her to hear that
from my own lips, if only once."

Mrs. Hannaford held out her hand impulsively.

"Do what you feel you must. You make me feel very strangely. I never
knew what----"

Her voice faltered. She rose.

When she had left him, Piers sat for some time communing with his
thoughts. Then he went home to the simple meal he called dinner, and
afterwards, as the evening was clear, walked for a couple of hours away
from the louder streets