"I told her once, quite plainly, that Daniel Otway wasn't the kind of man she ought to be friendly with. She was offended: it was one of the reasons why we couldn't go on living together. I believe, if the truth were known, it was worry about him that caused her breakdown in health. She's a weak, soft-natured woman, and he—I know very well what he is. He and the other one—both Piers Otway's brothers—have always been worthless creatures. She knew it well enough, and yet——! I suppose their mother——"
She broke off in a tone of disgust. Irene, looking at her with more attentiveness, waited for what she would next say.
"Of course you remember," Olga added, after a pause, "that they are only half-brothers to Piers Otway?"
"Of course I do."
"His mother must have been a very different woman. You have heard——?"
They exchanged looks. Irene nodded, and averted her eyes, murmuring, "Aunt explained to me, after his father's death."
"One would have supposed," said Olga, "that they would turn into the honourable men, and he the scamp. Nature doesn't seem to care much about setting us a moral lesson."
And she laughed—a short, bitter laugh. Irene, her brows knit in painful thought, kept silence.
They were going to the dining-room, when a servant made known to them that Mrs. Hannaford was asking for her daughter.
"Do have something to eat," said Olga, "and I'll tell her you are here. You shall have lunch first; I insist upon it, and I'll join you in a moment."