eemed, would make no acknowledgment of the service
rendered him by a brother of the man whom he must regard as a pitiful
scoundrel. How abhorred by him must be the name of Otway!

And could it be less hateful to his daughter, to Irene?

The days passed. A pleasant surprise broke the monotony of work and
worry when, one afternoon, the office-boy handed in a card bearing the
name Korolevitch. The Russian was spending a week in London, and Otway
saw him several times; on one occasion they sat talking together till
three in the morning. To Piers this intercourse brought vast mental
relief, and gave him an intellectual impulse of which he had serious
need in his life of solitude, ever tending to despondency. Korolevitch,
on leaving England, volunteered to call upon Moncharmont at Odessa. He
had wool to sell, and why not sell it to his friends? But he, as well
as Piers, looked for profit of another kind from this happy
acquaintance.

It was not long before Otway made another call upon Miss Bonnicastle,
and at this time, as he had hoped, he found her alone, working. He led
their talk to the subject of Kite.

"You ought to go and see him in his garret," said Miss Bonnicastle.
"He'd like you to."

"Tell me, if you know," threw out the other, looking into her broad,
good-natured face. "Is he still interested in Miss Hannaford?"

"Why, of course! He's one of the stupids who keep up that kind of thing
for a lifetime. But 'he that will not when he may'! Poor silly fellow!
How I should enjoy boxing his ears!"

They laughed, but Miss Bonnicastle seemed very much in earnest.

"He's tormenting his silly self," she went on, "because he has been
unfaithful to her. There was a girl in Paris. Oh, he tells me
everything! We're good friends. The girl over there did him enormous
good, that's all I know. It was she that set him to work, and supplied
him with his model at the same time! What better could have happened.
And now the absurd creature has qualms of conscience!"

"Well," said Piers, smiling uneasily, "it's intelligible."

"Bosh! Don't be silly! A man has his work to do, and he must get what
help he can. I shall pack him off back to Paris."

"I'll go and see him, I think. About the Italian, Florio. Has he also
an interest?"

"In Olga? Yes, I fancy he has, but I don't know much about him. He
comes and goes, on business. There's a chance, I think, of his dropping
in for money before long. He isn't a bad sort--what do you th