Part 67 (1/2)
”You don't love me,” said Iris, on a sob.
”It is because I love you,” he replied, glooming, ”that I can't bear to think of you married to such a luckless fellow as I am.”
”Dearest!” she whispered. ”Am I ruining you? Do you wish to be free again? Tell me the truth; I think I can bear it.”
The next day saw them rambling in suns.h.i.+ne, Lashmar amorous and resigned, Iris flutteringly hopeful. And with such alternations did the holiday go by. When Leonard returned to school, their marriage was fixed for ten days later.
Shortly before leaving Eastbourne, Iris had written to Mr. Wrybolt.
Already they had corresponded on the subject of her marriage; this last letter, concerning a point of business which required immediate attention, remained without reply. Puzzled by her trustee's silence, Iris, soon after she reached home, went to see him at his City Office.
She learnt that Mr. Wrybolt was out of town, but would certainly return in a day or two.
Again she wrote. Again she waited in vain for a reply. On a dull afternoon near the end of September, as she sat thinking of Lashmar and resolutely seeing him in the glorified aspect dear to her heart and mind, the servant announced Mr. Barker. This was the athletic young man in whose company she had spent some time at Gorleston before Lashmar's coming. His business lay in the City; he knew Mr. Wrybolt, and through him had made Mrs. Woolstan's acquaintance. The face with which he entered the drawing-room portended something more than a friendly chat.
Iris had at one time thought that this young man felt disposed to offer her marriage; was that his purpose now, and did it account for his odd look?
”I want to ask you,” Mr. Barker began, abruptly, ”whether you know anything about Wrybolt? Have you heard from him lately?”
Iris replied that she herself wished to hear of that gentleman, who did not answer her letters, and was said to be out of town.
”That's so, is it?” exclaimed the young man, with a yet stranger look on his face. ”You really have no idea where he is?”
”None whatever. And I particularly want to see him.”
”So do I,” said Mr. Barker, smiling grimly. ”So do several people.
You'll excuse me, I hope, Mrs. Woolstan. I knew he was a friend of yours, and thought you might perhaps know more about him than we did in the City. I mustn't stay.”
Iris stared at him as he rose. A vague alarm began to tremble in her mind.
”You don't mean that anything's wrong?” she panted.
”We'll hope not, but it looks queer.”
”Oh!” cried Iris. ”He has money of mine. He is my trustee.”
”I know that. Please excuse me; I really mustn't stay.”
”Oh, but tell me, Mr. Barker!” She clutched at his coat sleeve. ”Is my money in danger?”
”I can't say, but you certainly ought to look after it. Get someone to make inquiries at once; that's my advice. I really must go.”
He disappeared, leaving Iris motionless in amazement and terror.
CHAPTER x.x.x
The wedding was to be a very quiet one. Lashmar would have preferred the civil ceremony, at the table of the registrar, with musty casuals for witnesses; but Iris shrank from this. It must be at a church, and with a few friends looking on, or surely people would gossip. Had he been marrying an heiress, Dyce would have called for pomp and circ.u.mstance, with portraits in the fas.h.i.+on papers, and every form of advertis.e.m.e.nt which society has contrived. As it was, he desired to slink through the inevitable. He was ashamed; he was confounded; and only did not declare it. To the very eve of the wedding-day, his mind ferreted elusive hopes. Had men and G.o.ds utterly forsaken him? In solitude, he groaned and gnashed his teeth. And no deliverance came.
Reaction made him at times the fervent lover, and these interludes supported Iris's courage. ”Let it once be over!” she kept saying to herself. She trusted in her love and in her womanhood.
”At all events,” cried the bridegroom, ”we needn't go through the foolery of running away to hide ourselves. It's only waste of money.”