if she might join
her father in the library.

"Yes, come and be smoked," was his answer.

This mood did not surprise her. It was the Doctor's principle to combat
anxiety with jests. He filled and lit one of his largest pipes, and
smoked for some minutes before speaking. Irene, still nervous, let her
eyes wander about the book-covered walls; a flush was on her cheeks,
and with one of her hands she grasped the other wrist, as if to
restrain herself from involuntary movement.

"The nurse came," she said at length, unable to keep silence longer.

"That's right. An excellent woman; I can trust her."

"Aunt seemed better when I came away."

"I'm glad."

Volleys of tobacco were the only sign of the stress Dr. Derwent
suffered. He loathed what seemed to him the sordid tragedy of his
sister's life, and he resented as a monstrous thing his daughter's
involvement in such an affair. This was the natural man; the scientific
observer took another side, urging that life was life and could not be
escaped, refine ourselves as we may; also that a sensible girl of
mature years would benefit rather than otherwise by being made helpful
to a woman caught in the world's snare.

"Whilst I was there," pursued Irene, "there came a letter from Mr.
Otway. No, no; not from _him_; from Mr. Piers Otway."

She gave a general idea of its contents, and praised its tone. "I
daresay," threw out her father, almost irritably, "but I shall strongly
advise her to have done with all of that name."

"It's true they are of the same family," said Irene, "but that seems a
mere accident, when one knows the difference between our friend Mr.
Otway and his brothers."

"Maybe; I shall never like the name. Pray don't speak of 'our friend.'
In any case, as you see, there must be an end of that."

"I should like you to see his letter, father. Ask aunt to show it you."

The Doctor smoked fiercely, his brows dark. Rarely in her lifetime had
Irene seen her father wrathful--save for his outbursts against the
evils of the world and the time. To her he had never spoken an angry
word. The lowering of his features in this moment caused her a painful
flutter at the heart; she became mute, and for a minute or two neither
spoke.

"By the bye," said Dr. Derwent suddenly, "it is a most happy thing that
your aunt's money was so strictly tied up. No one can be advantaged by
her death--except that American hospital. Her scoundrelly acquaintances
are aware of that fact