“The Doctor perhaps hasn’t come.  But I see Eustace Derwent.  Shall we go and speak to him?”

They walked towards Irene’s brother, Piers gazing this way and that in eager hope of perceiving Irene herself.  He was wild with delight.  Could fortune have been kinder?  Under what more favourable circumstance could he possibly have renewed his relations with Miss Derwent?  Eustace, turning at the right moment, stood face to face with Arnold Jacks, who presented his companion, then moved away.  Had he lingered, John Jacks’ critical son would have found hints for amused speculation in the scene that followed.  For Eustace Derwent, remembering, as always, what he owed to himself and to society, behaved with entire politeness; only, like certain beverages downstairs, it was iced.  Otway did not immediately become aware of this.

“I think we missed each other only by an hour or two, when you brought Miss Derwent to Ewell.  That very day, curiously, I was lunching here.”

“Indeed?” said Eustace, with a marble smile.

“Miss Derwent is here, I hope?” pursued Piers; not with any offensive presumption, but speaking as he thought, rather impetuously.

“I believe Miss Derwent is in the room,” was the answer, uttered with singular gravity and accompanied with a particularly freezing look.

This time, Piers could not but feel that Eustace Derwent was speaking oddly.  In his peculiar condition, however, he thought it only an amusing characteristic of the young man.  He smiled, and was about to continue the dialogue, when, with a slight, quick bow, the other turned away.

“Disagreeable fellow, that!” said Piers to himself.  “I hope the Doctor isn’t like him.  Who could imagine him Irene’s brother?”

His spirits were not in the least affected; indeed, every moment they grew more exuberant, as the wine he had drunk wrought progressively upon his brain.  Only he could have wished that his cheeks and ears did not burn so; seeing himself again in a glass, he decided that he was really too high-coloured.  It would pass, no doubt.  Meanwhile, his eyes kept seeking Miss Derwent.  The longer she escaped him, the more vehement grew his agitation.  Ah, there!

She was seated, and had been hidden by a little group standing in front.  At this moment, Eustace Derwent was bending to speak to her; she gave a nod in reply to what he said.  As soon as the objectionable brother moved from her side, Piers stepped quickly forward.

“How delightful to meet you here!  It seems too good to be true.  I called this afternoon at your house—­called to see you—­but you were not at home.  I little imagined I should see you this evening.”

Irene raised her eyes, and let them fall back upon her fan; raised them again, and observed the speaker attentively.

“I was told you had called, Mr. Otway.”

How her voice thrilled him!  What music like that voice!  It made him live through his agonies again, which by contrast heightened the rapture of this hour.