He spoke, he was beginning to converse; the room grew real again; he was aware once more of Mrs.
Hannaford's presence, of a look she had fixed upon him.

A look half amused, half compassionate; he answered it with a courageous smile.
Miss Derwent was in her happiest mood; impossible to be kinder and friendlier in that merry way of hers.

Scarce having expected to meet her, still keeping in his mind the anguish of that calamitous and shameful night three years ago when he fled before her grave reproof, Piers beheld her and listened to her with such a sense of passionate gratitude that he feared lest some crazy word should escape him.

That Irene remembered, no look or word of hers suggested; unless, indeed, the perfection of her kindness aimed at assuring him that the past was wholly past.

She made inquiry about his father's health; she spoke of his life at Odessa, and was full of interest when he sketched his projects.