Mr.Kite, well-meaning as he might be, would never do.
To-day there was truce.

They talked much of Piers Otway, and in the afternoon, as had been arranged by letter, both went to the railway station, to meet the train by which it was hoped he would come--Piers arrived.
"How much improved!" was the thought of both.

He was larger, manlier, and though still of pale complexion had no longer the bloodless look of years ago.

Walking, he bore himself well; he was self-possessed in manner, courteous in not quite the English way; brief, at first, in his sentences, but his face lit with cordiality.

On the way to the ladies' lodgings, he stole frequent glances at one and the other; plainly he saw change in them, and perhaps not for the better.
Mrs.Hannaford kept mentally comparing him with the scarecrow Kite.