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, and seemed to be thinking of something else.

Next morning, though the sun shone brilliantly, she did not appear