Part 2 (1/2)

The faint colour that had risen in her face, when she entered the room, left it. At the same time, the expression of her mouth altered. The lips closed firmly; revealing that strongest of all resolutions which is founded on a keen sense of wrong. She looked older than her age: what she might be ten years hence, she was now. Sir Giles understood her. He got up, and took a turn in the room. An old habit, of which he had cured himself with infinite difficulty when he was made a Knight, showed itself again. He put his hands in his pockets.

”You and your father have had another quarrel,” he said, stopping opposite Iris.

”I don't deny it,” she replied.

”Who is to blame?”

She smiled bitterly. ”The woman is always to blame.”

”Did your father tell you that?”

”My father reminded me that I was twenty-one years old, last birthday--and told me that I could do as I liked. I understood him, and I left the house.”

”You will go back again, I suppose?”

”I don't know.”

Sir Giles began pacing the room once more. His rugged face, telling its story of disaster and struggle in early life, showed signs of disappointment and distress.

”Hugh promised to write to me,” he said, ”and he has not written. I know what that means; I know what you have done to offend your father.

My nephew has asked you to marry him for the second time. And for the second time you have refused.”

Her face softened; its better and younger aspect revived. ”Yes,” she said, sadly and submissively; ”I have refused him again.”

Sir Giles lost his temper. ”What the devil is your objection to Hugh?”

he burst out.

”My father said the same thing to me,” she replied, ”almost in the same words. I made him angry when I tried to give my reason. I don't want to make you angry, too.”

He took no notice of this. ”Isn't Hugh a good fellow?” he went on.

”Isn't he affectionate? and kindhearted? and honourable?--aye, and a handsome man too, if you come to that.”

”Hugh is all that you say. I like him; I admire him; I owe to his kindness some of the happiest days of my sad life, and I am grateful--oh, with all my heart, I am grateful to Hugh!”

”If that's true, Iris----”

”Every word of it is true.”

”I say, if that's true--there's no excuse for you. I hate perversity in a young woman! Why don't you marry him?”

”Try to feel for me,” she said gently; ”I can't love him.”

Her tone said more to the banker than her words had expressed. The secret sorrow of her life, which was known to her father, was known also to Sir Giles.

”Now we have come to it at last!” he said. ”You can't love my nephew Hugh. And you won't tell me the reason why, because your sweet temper shrinks from making me angry. Shall I mention the reason for you, my dear? I can do it in two words--Lord Harry.”

She made no reply; she showed no sign of feeling at what he had just said. Her head sank a little; her hands clasped themselves on her lap; the obstinate resignation which can submit to anything hardened her face, stiffened her figure--and that was all.