"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