pleased her. Had he known his brother well, Piers would have
understood that this exhibition of fine courtesy meant a peculiar
interest on Daniel's part. Such interest was not difficult to
excite; there needed only an agreeable woman's face of a type not
familiar to him, in circumstances which offered the chance of
intimacy. And Mrs. Hannaford, as it happened, made peculiar appeal
to Daniel's sensibilities. As they conversed, her thin cheeks grew
warm, her eyes gathered light; she unfolded a charm of personality
barely to be divined in her usual despondent mood.

Daniel's talk was animated, varied, full of cleverness and
character. No wonder if his hostess thought that she had never met
so delightful a man. Incidentally, in quite the permissible way, he
made known that he was a connoisseur of art; he spoke of his travels
on the track of this or that old master, of being consulted by
directors of great Galleries, by wealthy amateurs. He was gracefully
anecdotic; he allowed one to perceive a fine enthusiasm. And Piers
listened quite as attentively as Mrs. Hannaford, for he had no idea
how Daniel made his living. The kernel of truth in this fascinating
representation was that Daniel Otway, among other things, collected
_bric-a-brac_ for a certain. dealer, and at times himself disposed
of it to persons with more money than knowledge or taste. At the age
of thirty-eight this was the point he had reached in a career which
once promised brilliant things. In whatever profession he had
steadily pursued, Daniel would have come to the front; but precisely
that steady pursuit was the thing impossible to him. His special
weakness, originally amiable, had become an enthralling vice; the
soul of goodness in the man was corrupted, and had turned poisonous.

The conversation was still unflagging when Olga and her cousin