have any woman for a friend on other
terms."

"Then--here's what I want to say. I'm your friend call me Jack or
Harry, if you like--and I see a way in which I can be of use to you. It
happens that I have rather more money than I want for my own use. I
want to lend you some--until your difficulties are over--just as one
man would to another--"

Her speech had become so palpitant that she was stopped by want of
breath; a rosy shamefacedness subdued her; trying to brave it out, she
achieved only an unconscious archness of eye and lip which made her for
the moment oddly, unfamiliarly attractive. Dyce could not take his eyes
from her; he experienced a singular emotion.

"That's uncommonly good of you, Iris," he said, with all the directness
at his command. "You see, I call you by your name, just to show that I
take our friendship seriously. If I could borrow from anyone I would
from you. But I don't like the idea. You're a good fellow--" he
laughed--"and I thank you heartily."

Iris winced at the "good fellow."

"Why can't you consent to borrow?" she asked, in a note of persistence.
"Would you refuse if Lady Ogram made such a suggestion?"

"Oh, Lady Ogram! That would depend entirely--"

"But you must have money from somewhere," Iris urged, her manner
becoming practical. "I'm not rich enough to lend very much, but I could
help you over a year, perhaps. Wouldn't you rather go back to Rivenoak
with a feeling of complete independence?--I see what it is. You don't
really mean what you say; you're ashamed to be indebted to a woman.
Yes, I can see it in your face."

"Look at the thing impartially," said Dyce, fidgetting in his chair.
"How can I be sure that I should ever be able to pay you back? In money
matters there is just that difference a man can go to work and earn; a
woman generally can't do anything of the kind. That's why it seems
unjust to take a woman's money; that's the root of all our delicacy in
the matter. Don't trouble about my affairs; I shall pull through the
difficult time."

"Yes," exclaimed Iris, "with somebody else's help. And _why_ should it
be somebody else? I'm not in such a position that I should be ruined if
I lost a few hundred pounds. I have money I can do what I like with. If
I want to have the pleasure of helping you, why should you refuse me?
You know very well--at least, I hope you do--that I should never have
hinted at such a thing if we had been just ordinary acquaintances.
We're tryi