garden at the back of the
house, and on the lawn he saw a little group of ladies. Seated in
basket chairs, Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter were conversing with a
third person whom Piers did not know, a tall, fair-faced girl who stood
before them and seemed at this moment to be narrating some lively
story. Even had her features been hidden, the attitude of this
stranger, her admirable form and rapid, graceful gestures, must have
held the young man's attention; seeing her with the light full on her
countenance, he gazed and gazed, in sudden complete forgetfulness of
his half-opened letter. Just so had he stood before the print shop in
London this morning, with the same wide eyes, the same hurried
breathing; rapt, self-oblivious.

He remembered. The Hannafords' relative, Miss Derwent, was expected
to-day; and Miss Derwent, doubtless, he beheld.

The next moment it occurred to him that his observation, within earshot
of the group, was a sort of eavesdropping; he closed his window and
turned away. The sound must have drawn attention, for very soon there
came a knock at the door, and the servant inquired of him whether he
would have tea, as usual, in his room, or join the ladies below.

"Bring it here, please," he replied. "And--yes, tell Mrs. Hannaford
that I shall not come down to dinner--you can bring me anything you
like--just a mouthful of something."

Now there went, obscurely, no less than three reasons to the quick
shaping of this decision. In the first place, Piers had glanced over
his father's letter, and saw in it matter for long reflection.
Secondly, his headache was declared, and he would be better alone for
the evening. Thirdly, he shrank from meeting Miss Derwent. And this
last was the predominant motive. Letter and headache notwithstanding,
he would have joined the ladies at dinner but for the presence of their
guest. An inexplicable irritation all at once possessed him; a
grotesque resentment of Miss Derwent's arrival.

Why should she have come just when he wanted to work harder than ever?
That was how things happened--the perversity of circumstance! She would
be at every meal for at least a week; he must needs talk with her, look
at her, think about her. His annoyance became so acute that he tramped
nervously about the floor, muttering maledictions.

It passed. A cup of tea brought him to his right mind, and he no longer
saw the event in such exaggerated colours. But he was glad of his
decision to spe