led a passing cab, and drove home.

A week later, he heard from Mrs. Hannaford that she and Olga were
established in their own home; she begged him to come and see them
soon, mentioning an evening when they would be glad if he could dine
with them. And Piers willingly accepted.

The house was at Campden Hill; a house of the kind known to agents as
"desirable," larger than the two ladies needed for their comfort, and,
as one saw on entering the hall, furnished with tasteful care. The work
had been supervised by Dr. Derwent, who thought that his sister and his
niece might thus be tempted to live the orderly life so desirable in
their unfortunate circumstances. When Piers entered, Mrs. Hannaford sat
alone in the drawing room; she still had the look of an invalid, but
wore a gown which showed to advantage the lines of her figure. Otway
had been told not to dress, and it caused him some surprise to see his
hostess adorned as if for an occasion of ceremony. Her hair was done in
a new way, which changed the wonted character of her face, so that she
looked younger. A bunch of pale flowers rested against her bosom, and
breathed delicate perfume about her.

"It was discussed," she said, in a low, intimate voice, "whether we
should settle in London or abroad. But we didn't like to go away. Our
only real friends are in England, and we must hope to make more. Olga
is so good, now that she sees that I really need her. She has been so
kind and sweet during my illness."

Whilst they were talking, Miss Hannaford silently made her entrance.
Piers turned his head, and felt a shock of surprise. Not till now had
he seen Olga at her best; he had never imagined her so handsome; it was
a wonderful illustration of the effect of apparel. She, too, had
reformed the fashion of her hair, and its tawny abundance was much more
effective than in the old careless style. She looked taller; she
stepped with a more graceful assurance, and in offering her hand,
betrayed consciousness of Otway's admiration in a little flush that
well became her.

She had subdued her voice, chastened her expressions. The touch of
masculinity on which she had prided herself in her later "Bohemian"
days, was quite gone. Wondering as they conversed, Piers had a
difficulty in meeting her look; his eyes dropped to the little silk
shoe which peeped from beneath her skirt. His senses were gratified; he
forgot for the moment his sorrow and unrest.

The talk at dinner was rath