on. What are the subjects?"

He expounded the matter as they walked up and down. It led to a
question regarding the possibilities of such a career as he had in view.

"To tell the truth, I haven't thought much about that," said Piers,
with wandering look. "My idea was, I fancy, to get a means of earning
my living which would leave me a good deal of time for private work."

"What, literary work?"

"No; I didn't think of writing. I like study for its own sake."

"Then you have no ambitions, of the common kind?"

"Well, perhaps not. I suppose I have been influenced by my father's
talk about that kind of thing."

"To be sure."

He noticed a shrinking movement in Miss Derwent and saw that Hannaford
was approaching. This dislike of the man, involuntarily betrayed, gave
Piers an exquisite pleasure. Not only because it showed they had a
strong feeling in common; it would have delighted him in any case, for
he was jealous of any human being who approached Irene.

Hannaford made known at breakfast that he was leaving home again that
afternoon, and might be absent for several days. A sensitive person
must have felt the secret satisfaction caused all round the table by
this announcement; Hannaford, whether he noticed it or not, was
completely indifferent; certain letters he had received took most of
his attention during the meal. One of them related to an appointment in
London which he was trying to obtain; the news was favourable, and it
cheered him.

An hour later, as he sat writing in his study, Mrs. Hannaford brought
in a parcel, which had just arrived for him.

"Ah, what's that?" he asked, looking up with interest.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered his wife. "Something with blood on
it, I dare say."

Hannaford uttered a crowing laugh of scorn and amusement.

Through the afternoon Piers Otway sat in the garden with the ladies.
After tea he again went for a walk with Olga and Irene. After dinner he
lingered so significantly that Mrs. Hannaford invited him to the
drawing-room, and with unconcealed pleasure he followed her thither.
When at length he had taken his leave for the night, there was a short
silence, Mrs. Hannaford glancing from her daughter to Irene, and
smiling reflectively.

"Mr. Otway seems to be taking a holiday," she said at length.

"Yes, so it seemed to me," fell from Olga, who caught her mother's eye.

"It'll do him good," was Miss Derwent's remark. She exchanged no glance
with the others,