"I understand. She must, you mean, be very strongly drawn to him. But then I needed no such proof of her feeling--if it is _certain_ that she is going to marry him. Could I imagine her marrying a man for any reason but one? Surely you could not?" "No--no----" The denial had a certain lack of emphasis. Otway's eyes flashed. "You doubt? You speak in that way of Irene Derwent?" Gazing into Mrs. Hannaford's face, he saw rising tears. She gave a little laugh, which did not disguise her emotion as she answered him. "Oh, what an idealist it makes a man!--don't talk of your unworthiness. If some women are good, it is because they try hard to be what the best men think them. No, no, I have no doubts of Irene. And that is why it really grieves me to see you still hoping. She would never have gone so far----" "But there's the very question!" cried Piers excitedly. "Who knows how far she has gone? It may be the merest conjecture on your part, and her father's. People are so ready to misunderstand a girl who respects herself enough to be free and frank in her association with men. Let me shame myself by making a confession. Five years ago, when I all but went mad about her, I was contemptible enough to think she had treated me cruelly." He gave a scornful laugh. "You know what I mean. At Ewell, when I lived only for my books, and she drew me away from them. Conceited idiot! And she so bravely honest, so simple and direct, so human! Was it _her_ fault if I lost my head?" "She certainly changed the whole course of your life," said Mrs. Hannaford thoughtfully. "True, she did. And to my vast advantage! What should I have become? A clerkship at Whitehall--heaven defend us! At best a learned pedant, in my case. She sent me out into the world, where there is always hope. She gave me health and sanity. Above all, she set before me an ideal which has never allowed me to fall hopelessly--never will let me become a contented brute! If she never addresses another word to me, I shall owe her an infinite debt as long as I live. And I want her to hear that from my own lips, if only once." Mrs. Hannaford held out her hand impulsively. "Do what you feel you must. You make me feel very strangely. I never knew what----" Her voice faltered. She rose. When she had left him, Piers sat for some time communing with his thoughts. Then he went home to the simple meal he called dinner, and afterwards, as the evening was clear, walked for a couple of hours away from the louder streets. His resolve gave him a night of quiet rest. CHAPTER XIX Again Irene was going down into Cheshire, to visit the two old ladies, her relatives. It was arranged that she should accompany Mrs. Hannaford to Malvern, and spend a couple of days there. The travellers arrived on a Friday evening. Before leaving town Mrs. Hannaford had written to Piers Otway to give him the address of the house at Malvern in which rooms had been taken for them.