the coarse
behaviour of Piers Otway's second brother. True, there was something
else that moved her censure on that occasion, but she would scarcely
have noticed it save for the foolish incident at the door. Fortune was
not his friend. She thought of the circumstances of his birth, which
had so cruelly wronged him when Jerome Otway died. Now, more likely
than not, her father would resent his coming to Mrs. Hannaford's, would
see in it something suspicious, a suggestion of base purpose.

"I can't stand that!" Irene exclaimed to herself. "If he is
calumniated, I shall defend him, come of it what may!"

At luncheon, Dr. Derwent was grave and disinclined to converse. On
learning where Irene had been, he nodded, making no remark. It was a
bad sign that his uneasiness could no longer be combated with a dry
joke.

As three o'clock drew near, Irene made no preparation for going out.
She sat in the drawing-room, unoccupied, and was found thus when Arnold
Jacks entered.

"You got my note?" he began, with a slight accent of surprise.

Irene glanced at him, and perceived that he did not wear his wonted
countenance. This she had anticipated, with an uneasiness which now
hardened in her mind to something like resentment.

"Yes. I hoped you would excuse me. I have a little headache."

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

He was perfectly suave. He looked at her with a good-natured anxiety.
Irene tried to smile.

"You won't mind if I leave all that to you? Your judgment is quite
enough. If you really like the house, take it at once. I shall be
delighted."

"It's rather a responsibility, you know. Suppose we wait till
to-morrow?"

Irene's nerves could not endure an argument. She gave a strange laugh,
and exclaimed:

"Are you afraid of responsibilities? In this case, you must really face
it. Screw up your courage."

Decidedly, Arnold was not himself. He liked an engagement of banter; it
amused him to call out Irene's spirit, and to conquer in the end by
masculine force in guise of affectionate tolerance. To-day he seemed
dull, matter-of-fact, inclined to vexation; when not speaking, he had a
slightly absent air, as if ruminating an unpleasant thought.

"Of course I will do as you wish, Irene. Just let me describe the
house----"

She could have screamed with irritation.

"Arnold, I entreat you! The house is nothing to me. I mean, one will do
as well as another, if _you_ are satisfied."

"So be it. I will never touch on the subject a