"Disagreeable fellow, that!" said Piers to himself. "I hope the
Doctor isn't like him. Who could imagine him Irene's brother?"

His spirits were not in the least affected; indeed, every moment
they grew more exuberant, as the wine he had drunk wrought
progressively upon his brain. Only he could have wished that his
cheeks and ears did not burn so; seeing himself again in a glass, he
decided that he was really too high-coloured. It would pass, no
doubt. Meanwhile, his eyes kept seeking Miss Derwent. The longer she
escaped him, the more vehement grew his agitation. Ah, there!

She was seated, and had been hidden by a little group standing in
front. At this moment, Eustace Derwent was bending to speak to her;
she gave a nod in reply to what he said. As soon as the
objectionable brother moved from her side, Piers stepped quickly
forward.

"How delightful to meet you here! It seems too good to be true. I
called this afternoon at your house--called to see you--but you
were not at home. I little imagined I should see you this evening."

Irene raised her eyes, and let them fall back upon her fan; raised
them again, and observed the speaker attentively.

"I was told you had called, Mr. Otway."

How her voice thrilled him! What music like that voice! It made him
live through his agonies again, which by contrast heightened the
rapture of this hour.