e is an
end to our correspondence."

"Thank you. It shall be as you desire. Exactly," he repeated, "as you
desire."

He ought to have gone at once. There was nothing more to say. Yet he
lingered, holding the letters in his hand.

"To write these letters," he said, "has been for a long time one of
my greatest pleasures, partly because I felt that I was writing to a
friend, and so wrote in full trust and confidence; partly because they
procured me a reply--in the shape of your letters. Must I take back
these letters of mine?"

She made no answer.

"It is hard, is it not, to lose a friend so slowly acquired, thus
suddenly and unexpectedly?"

"Yes," she said, "it is hard. I am very sorry. It was my fault."

"Perhaps I have said something, in my ignorance--something which ought
not to have been said or written--something careless--something which
has lowered me in your esteem--"

"Oh, no--no!" said Iris quickly. "You have never said anything that a
gentleman should not have said."

"And if you yourself found any pleasure in answering my letters--"

"Yes," said Iris with frankness, "it gave me great pleasure to read
and to answer your letters, as well as I could."

"I have not brought back your letters. I hope you will allow me to
keep them. And, if you will, why should we not continue our
correspondence as before?" But he did not ask the question
confidently.

"No," said Iris decidedly "it can never be continued as before. How
could it, when once we have met, and you have learned the truth?"

"Then," he continued, "if we cannot write to each other any more, can
we not talk?"

She ought to have informed him on the spot that the thing was quite
impossible, and not to be thought of for one moment. She should have
said, coldly, but firmly--every right-minded and well-behaved girl
would have said--"Sir, it is not right that you should come alone to a
young lady's study. Such things are not to be permitted. It we meet in
society, we may, perhaps, renew our acquaintance."

But girls do go on sometimes as if there was no such thing as
propriety at all, and such cases are said to be growing more frequent.
Besides, Iris was not a girl who was conversant with social
convenances. She looked at her pupil thoughtfully and frankly.

"Can we?" she asked. She who hesitates is lost, a maxim which cannot
be too often read, said, and studied. It is one of the very few golden
rules omitted from Solomon's Proverbs. "Can we?