"Do you think"—Irene looked roguishly at her cousin—"Mr. Otway would forgive us if we begged him to come, too?"
Olga smiled, and glanced at the young man with certainty that he would excuse himself.
"We can but ask," she said.
And Piers, to her astonishment, at once assented. He did so with sudden colour in his cheeks, avoiding Olga's look.
So they set forth together; and, little by little, Piers grew remarkably talkative. Miss Derwent mentioned his father, declared an interest in Jerome Otway, and this was a subject on which Piers could always discourse to friendly hearers. This evening he did so with exceptional fervour, abounded in reminiscences, rose at moments to enthusiasm. His companions were impressed; to Irene it was an unexpected revelation of character. She had imagined young Otway dry and rather conventional, perhaps conceited; she found him impassioned and an idealist, full of hero-worship, devoted to his father's name and fame.
"And he lives all the year round in that out-of-the-way place?" she asked. "I must make a pilgrimage to Hawes. Would he be annoyed? I could tell him about his old friends at Helsingfors——"
"He would be delighted to see you!" cried Piers, his face glowing. "Let me know before—let me write——"
"Is he quite alone?"
"No, his wife—my stepmother—is living."
Irene's quick perception interpreted the change of note.