Let the years roll back, and let Iris speak for herself, at the
memorable time when she was in the prime of her life, and when a stormy
career was before her.
IV
Being Miss Henley's godfather, Sir Giles was a privileged person. He
laid his hairy hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on either cheek.
After that prefatory act of endearment, he made his inquiries. What
extraordinary combination of events had led Iris to leave London, and
had brought her to visit him in his banking-house at Ardoon?
"I wanted to get away from home," she answered; "and having nobody to
go to but my godfather, I thought I should like to see You."
"Alone!" cried Sir Giles.
"No--with my maid to keep me company."
"Only your maid, Iris? Surely you have acquaintances among young ladies
like yourself?"
"Acquaintances--yes. No friends."
"Does your father approve of what you have done?"
"Will you grant me a favour, godpapa?"
"Yes--if I can."
"Don't insist on my answering your last question."
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."