"When is Miss Derwent to be married?"
Mrs. Hannaford's eyes escaped his hard look. She murmured that no date had yet been settled.
"Tell me—I beg you will tell me—is her engagement absolutely certain?"
"I feel sure it is."
"No! I want more than that. Do you know that it is?"
"I can only say that her father believes it to be a certain thing. No announcement has yet been made."
"H'm! Then it isn't settled at all."
Piers sat stiffly upon his chair. He held an ivory paperknife, which he kept bending across his knee, and of a sudden the thing snapped in two. But he paid no attention, merely flinging the handle away. Mrs. Hannaford looked him in the face; he was deeply flushed; his lips and his throat trembled like those of a child on the point of tears.
"Don't! Oh, don't take it so to heart! It seems impossible—after all this time——"
"Impossible or not, it is!" he replied impetuously. "Mrs. Hannaford, you will do something for me. You will let me come down to Malvern, whilst she is with you, and see her—speak with her alone."