e
which I think I am only doing a duty in acquainting you with. It is
very unpleasant, but not the first unpleasant piece of news that you
and I have shared together. You remember all about Piers Otway and
those letters of my poor mother's, which he said he bought for us from
his horrid brother? Well, I find that he did _not_ buy them--at all
events that he never paid for them. Daniel Otway is now broken-down in
health, and depends on help from the other brother, Alexander, who has
gone in for some sort of music-hall business! Not only did Piers
_cheat_ him out of the money promised for the letters (I fear there's
no other word for it), but he has utterly refused to give the man a
farthing--though in good circumstances, I hear. This is all very
disagreeable, and I don't like to talk about it, but as I hear Piers
Otway has been seeing you, it's better you should know." She added
"very kind regards," and signed herself "yours affectionately." Then
came a postscript. "Mrs. A. Otway is actually on the music-hall stage
herself, in short skirts!"

The paper shook in Irene's hand. She turned sick with fear and misery.

Mechanically the other letter was torn open. Dr. Derwent wrote about
Eustace's engagement. It did not exactly surprise him; he had observed
significant things. Nor did it exactly displease him, for since talking
with Eustace and with Marian Jacks (the widow), he suspected that the
match was remarkable for its fitness. Mrs. Jacks had a large
fortune--well, one could resign oneself to that. "After all, Mam'zelle
Wren, there's nothing to be uneasy about. Arnold Jacks is sure to marry
very soon (a dowager duchess, I should say), and on that score there'll
be no awkwardness. When the Wren makes a nest for herself, I shall
convert this house into a big laboratory, and be at home only to
bacteria."

But the Doctor, too, had a postscriptum. "Olga has been writing to me,
sheer scandal, something about the letters you wot of having been
obtained in a dishonest way. I won't say I believe it, or that I
disbelieve it. I mention the thing only to suggest that perhaps I was
right in not making any acknowledgment of that obligation. I felt that
silence was the wise as well as the dignified thing--though someone
disagreed with me."

When Irene entered the sitting-room, her friend had long since
breakfasted.

"What's the matter?" Helen asked, seeing so pale and troubled a
countenance.

"Nothing much; I overtired myself y