of Miss Derwent, whose talk was
sure to interest him. Piers pleaded his headache, causing the lady more
solicitude. She entreated. As he could not work, it would be much
better for him to spend an hour or two in company. Would he not? to
please her?

Mrs. Hannaford spoke in a soft, caressing voice, and Piers returned her
look of kindness; but he was firm. An affection had grown up between
these two; their intercourse, though they seldom talked long together,
was much like that of mother and son.

"You are injuring you health," said Mrs. Hannaford gravely, "and it is
unkind to those who care for you."

"Wait a few weeks," he replied cheerily, "and I'll make up the health
account."

"You refuse to come down to please me, this once?"

"I must be alone--indeed I must," Piers replied, with unusual
abruptness. And Mrs. Hannaford, a little hurt, left the room without
speaking.

He all but hastened after her, to apologise; but the irritable impulse
overcame him again, and he had to pace the room till his nerves grew
steady.

Very soon after it was dark he gave up the effort to read, and went to
bed. A good night's sleep restored him. He rose with the sun, felt the
old appetite for work, and when the breakfast bell rang had redeemed
more than three good hours. He was able now to face Miss Derwent, or
anyone else. Indeed, that young lady hardly came into his mind before
he met her downstairs. At the introduction he behaved with his natural
reserve, which had nothing, as a rule, of awkwardness. Irene was
equally formal, though a smile at the corner of her lips half betrayed
a mischievous thought. They barely spoke to each other, and at table
Irene took no heed of him.

But with the others she talked as brightly as usual, managing, none the
less, to do full justice to the meal. Miss Derwent's vigour of mind and
body was not sustained on air, and she never affected a delicate
appetite. There was still something of the healthy schoolgirl in her
manner. Otway glanced at her once or twice, but immediately averted his
eyes--with a slight frown, as if the light had dazzled him.

She was talking of Finland, and mentioned the name of her father's
man-servant, Thibaut. It entered several times into the narrative, and
always with an approving epithet, the excellent Thibaut, the brave
Thibaut.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Hannaford, presently, "do tell Mr. Otway the story
of Thibaut."

"Yes, do!" urged Olga.

Piers raised his eyes