than ever, Iris saw that she must go away. She had no definite plan, but
Herr Kaufmann's suggestion seemed a good one.

When Lynn came in, he lit the candles in the parlour. Iris hoped he
would go upstairs without coming into the library, but he did not. She
shrank back into her chair, trusting that he would not see her, but with
unerring instinct he went straight to her.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, "are you here?"

"I'm here," said Iris, frostily, "but that isn't my name."

The timid little voice thrilled him with a great tenderness, and he
quickly possessed himself of her hand. "Iris, darling," he went on, "why
do you avoid me? I have been miserable ever since I told you I wrote the
letters."

"It was wrong to write them," she said.

"Why, dear?"

"Because."

"Didn't you like them?"

"No."

"I didn't think you were displeased." He was too chivalrous to remind
her of that moonlight night.

"It was very wrong," she repeated, stubbornly.

"Then forgive me."

"It's nothing to me," she returned, unmoved.

"I hoped it would be," said Lynn, gently. "Every time, I walked over to
the next town to mail them. I knew you hadn't seen any of my writing,
and I was sure you wouldn't suspect me."

"Nice advantage to take of a girl, wasn't it?" demanded Iris, her temper
rising.

She rose and started toward the door, but Lynn kept her back. The
starlight showed him her face, white and troubled. "Sweetheart," he
said, "listen. Just a moment, dear--that isn't much to ask, is it? If it
was wrong to write the letters, then I ask you to forgive me, but every
word was true. I love you, Iris--I love you with all my heart."

"With all your heart," she repeated, scornfully. "You have no heart!"

"Iris," he said, unsteadily, "what do you mean?"

"This," she cried, in a passion. "You have no more feeling than the
ground beneath your feet! Haven't I seen, haven't I known? Aunt Peace
died, and you did not care--you only thought it was unpleasant. You play
like a machine, a mountebank. Tricks with the violin--tricks with words!
And yet you dare to say you love me!"

"Iris! Darling!" cried Lynn, stung to the quick. "Don't!"

"Once for all I will have my say. To-morrow I go out of your house
forever. I have no right here, no place. I am an intruder, and I am
going away. You will never see me again, never as long as you live. You,
a machine, a clod, a trickster, a thing without a heart--you shall not
insult me again!"

W