“Send for another, Biddy—­the right Irish, my lass!  Another bottle to the glory of the British Empire!  Piers, we’ll make a night of it.  I haven’t a bed to offer you, but Biddy’ll give you a shake-down here on the floor.  You’re the right sort, Piers.  You’re a noble-minded, generous-hearted Englishman.”

Mrs. Otway, with a glance at the visitor, only made pretence of sending for more whisky, and Piers, after looking at his watch, insisted on taking leave.  Alexander would have gone with him to the station, but Bridget forbade this.  The patriot had to be content with promises of another such evening, and Piers, saying significantly “You will hear from me,” hastened to catch his train.

CHAPTER VIII

When he awoke next morning from a heavy sleep, Piers suffered the half-recollection of some reproachful dream.  His musty palate and dull brain reminded him of Alexander’s whisky; matter, that, for self-reproach; but in the background was something more.  He had dreamt of his father, and seemed to have discharged in sleep a duty still in reality neglected; that, namely, of responding to the old man’s offer of advice respecting the use he should make of his money.  Out of four hundred pounds, two hundred were already given away—­for he had no serious expectation that his brothers would repay the so-called loans.  Plainly it behoved him to be frank on this subject.  Affectionate loyalty to his father had ever been a guiding principle in Piers Otway’s life; he was uneasy under the sense that he had begun to slip towards neglectfulness, towards careless independence.

He would have written this morning, but, after all, it was better to wait until he had settled the doubt which made havoc of his days.  At heart he knew that he would not present himself for the Civil Service examination; but he durst not yet put the resolve into words.  It seemed a sort of madness, after so many months of laborious preparation, and the fixity of purpose which had grown with his studious habit.  And what a return for the patient kindness with which his father had counselled and assisted him!  He thought of Daniel and Alexander.  Was he, too, going to drift in life, instead of following a steadfast, manly course?  The perception and fear of such a danger were something new to him.  Piers had seen himself as an example of moral and intellectual vigour.  His abandonment of commerce had shown as a strong step in practical wisdom; the fourteen hours of daily reading had flattered his pride.  Thereupon came this sudden collapse of the whole scheme.  He could no longer endure the prospects for which he had toiled so strenuously.

But for shame, he would have bundled together all the books that lay on his table, and have flung them out of sight.

In the afternoon, he sought a private conversation with Mrs. Hannaford.  It was not easily managed, as Hannaford and Olga were both at home; but, by watching and waiting, he caught a moment when the lady stood alone in the garden.