"It's true they are of the same family," said Irene, "but that seems a mere accident, when one knows the difference between our friend Mr. Otway and his brothers." "Maybe; I shall never like the name. Pray don't speak of 'our friend.' In any case, as you see, there must be an end of that." "I should like you to see his letter, father. Ask aunt to show it you." The Doctor smoked fiercely, his brows dark. Rarely in her lifetime had Irene seen her father wrathful--save for his outbursts against the evils of the world and the time. To her he had never spoken an angry word. The lowering of his features in this moment caused her a painful flutter at the heart; she became mute, and for a minute or two neither spoke. "By the bye," said Dr. Derwent suddenly, "it is a most happy thing that your aunt's money was so strictly tied up. No one can be advantaged by her death--except that American hospital. Her scoundrelly acquaintances are aware of that fact no doubt." "It's a little hard, isn't it, that Olga would have nothing?" "In one way, yes. But I'm not sure she isn't safer so." Again there fell silence. Again Irene's eyes wandered, and her hands moved nervously. "There is one thing we must speak of," she said at length "If the case goes on, Arnold will of course hear of it." Dr. Derwent looked keenly at her before replying. "He knows already." "He knows? How?" "By common talk in some house he frequents. Agreeable! I saw him this afternoon; he took me aside and spoke of this. It is his belief that Hannaford himself has set the news going." Irene seemed about to rise. She sat straight, every nerve tense, her face glowing with indignation. "What an infamy!" "Just so. It's the kind of thing we're getting mixed up with." "How did Arnold speak to you? In what tone?" "As any decent man would--I can't describe it otherwise. He said that of course it didn't concern him, except in so far as it was likely to annoy our family. He wanted to know whether you had heard, and--naturally enough--was vexed that you couldn't be kept out of it. He's a man of the world, and knows that, nowadays, a scandal such as this matters very little. Our name will come into it, I fear, but it's all forgotten in a week or two." They sat still and brooded for a long time. Irene seemed on the point of speaking once or twice, but checked herself. When at length her father's face relaxed into a smile, she rose, said she was weary, and stepped forward to say good-night. "We'll have no more of this subject, unless compelled," said the Doctor. "It's worse that vivisection." And he settled to a book--or seemed to do so. CHAPTER XXV