"Let my father have it," said Irene. "He is interested in all that
kind of thing."

"Really? Seriously?"

"Quite seriously. He would much like to see it."

"Then I will either call on him, or write to him, when I get back."

Miss Derwent had not yet spoken of her destination. She mentioned,
now, that she was going to spend a week or two with relations at a
country place in Cheshire. She must change trains at Crewe. This
gave a lighter turn to the conversation. Arnold Jacks launched into
frank gaiety, and Irene met him with spirit. Not a little remarkable
was the absence of the note of sex from their merry gossip in the
narrow seclusion of a little railway compartment. Irene was as safe
with this world-conquering young man as with her own brother; would
have been so, probably, on a desert island. They were not man and
woman, but English gentleman and lady, and, from one point of view,
very brilliant specimens of their kind.

At Crewe both alighted, Arnold to stretch his legs for a moment.

"By the bye," he said, as Miss Derwent, having seen to her luggage,
was bidding him farewell, "I'm sorry to hear that young Otway has
been very ill."

"Ill?--I had no knowledge of it. In Russia?"

"Yes. My father was speaking of it yesterday. He had heard it from