woman (Irene had more of her father’s features), and, of course, he well knew that the eyes of ladies rested upon him with peculiar interest; but no vulgar vanity appeared in his demeanour.  As a matter of routine, he dressed well, but he abhorred the hint of foppishness.  In athletics he had kept the golden mean, as in all else; he exercised his body for health, not for the pride of emulation.  As to his career, he was at present reading for the Bar.  In meditative moments it seemed to him that he was, perhaps, best fitted for the diplomatic service.

Not till this gentleman had taken his leave, which he did (to catch a train) soon after lunch, was there any mention of the fact that the Hannafords had a stranger residing under their roof:  in coarse English, a lodger.

To Eustace, as his aunt knew, the subject would necessarily have been painful; and not only in the snobbish sense; it would really have distressed him to learn that his kinsfolk were glad of such a supplement to their income.  But soon after his retirement, Mrs. Hannaford spoke of the matter, and no sooner had she mentioned Piers Otway’s name than Irene flashed upon her a look of attentive interest.

“Is he related to Jerome Otway, the agitator?—­His son?  How delightful!  Oh, I know all about him; I mean, about the old man.  One of our friends at Helsingfors was an old French revolutionist, who has lived a great deal in England; he was always talking about his English friends of long ago, and Jerome Otway often came in.  He didn’t know whether he was still alive.  Oh, I must write and tell him.”

The ladles gave what information they could (it amounted to very little) about the recluse of Wensleydale; then they talked of the young man.

“We knew him at Geneva, first of all,” said Mrs. Hannaford.  “Indeed, he lived with us there for. a time; he was only a boy, then, and such a nice boy!  He has changed a good deal—­don’t you think so, Olga?  I don’t mean for the worse; not at all; but he is not so talkative and companionable.  You’ll find him shy at first, I fancy.”

“He works terrifically,” put in Olga.  “It’s certain he must be injuring his health.”

“Then,” exclaimed Irene, “why do you let him?”

“Let him?  We have no right to interfere with a young man of one-and-twenty.”

“Surely you have, if he’s behaving foolishly, to his own harm.  But what do you call terrific work?”

“All day long, and goodness knows how much of the night.  Somebody told us his light had been seen burning once at nearly three o’clock.”

“Is he at it now?” asked Irene, with a comical look towards the ceiling.

They explained Otway’s absence.

“Oh, he lunches with Members of Parliament, does he?”

“It’s a very exceptional thing for him to leave home,” said Mrs. Hannaford.  “He only goes out to breathe the air for half an hour or so in an afternoon.”