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.

The banker was determined not to spare her.

"It's easy to see," he resumed, "that you have not got over your
infatuation for that vagabond yet. Go where he may, into the vilest
places and among the lowest people, he carr