She spoke a name which surprised and delighted him; that of a scientific man known the world over.  Piers went his way with raptures and high resolves singing at his heart.

For the rest of daytime it was enough to walk about the streets in sun and shower, seeing a glorified London, one exquisite presence obscuring every mean thing and throwing light upon all that was beautiful.  He did not reason with himself about Irene’s friendliness; it had cast a spell upon him, and he knew only his joy, his worship.  Three years of laborious exile were trifling in the balance; had they been passed in sufferings ten times as great, her smile would have paid for all.

Fortunately, he had a little business to transact in London; on the two mornings that followed he was at his firm’s house in the City, making reports, answering inquiries—­mainly about wool and hemp.  Piers was erudite concerning Russian wool and hemp.  He talked about it not like the ordinary business man, but as a scholar might who had very thoroughly got up the subject.  His firm did not altogether approve this attitude of mind; they thought it queer, and would have smiled caustically had they known Otway’s purpose of starting as a merchant on his own account.  That, he had not yet announced, and would not do so until he had seen his Swiss friend at Odessa again.

The evening of the dinner arrived, and again Piers was rapt above himself.  Nothing could have been more cordial than Dr. Derwent’s reception of him, and he had but to look into the Doctor’s face to recognise a man worthy of reverence; a man of genial wisdom, of the largest humanity, of the sanest mirth.  Eustace Derwent was present; he behaved with exemplary good-breeding, remarking suavely that they had met before, and betraying in no corner of his pleasant smile that that meeting had been other than delightful to both.  Three guests arrived, besides Otway, one of them the distinguished person whose name had impressed him; a grizzled gentleman, of bland brows, and the simplest, softest manner.

At table there was general conversation—­the mode of civilised beings.  His mind in a whirl at first, Otway presently found himself quite capable of taking part in the talk.  Someone had told a story illustrative of superstition in English peasant folk, and Piers had only to draw upon his Russian experiences for pursuit of the subject.  He told how, in a time of great drought, he had known a corpse dug up from its grave by peasantry, and thrown into a muddy pond—­a vigorous measure for the calling down of rain; also, how he had seen a priest submit to be dragged on his back across a turnip field, that thereby a great crop might be secured.  These things interested the great man, who sat opposite; he beamed upon Otway, and sought from him further information regarding Russia.  Piers saw that Irene had turned to him; he held himself in command, he spoke neither too much nor too little, and as the things he knew were worth knowing, his share in the talk made a very favourable impression.  In truth, these three years had intellectually much advanced him.  It was at this time that he had begun to use the brief, decisive turn of speech which afterwards became his habit; a mode of utterance suggesting both mental resources and force of character.