dful words? And why have you
come to see _me_?"

She was her old self, the Iris Woolstan on whom first of all Lashmar
had tried his "method," who had so devoutly believed in him and given
such substantial proof of her faith. The man felt his power, and began
to recover self-respect.

"Tell me one thing," he said, bending towards her. "May I remain your
debtor for a little longer? Will it put you to inconvenience?"

"Not at all!" was the impulsive reply. "I told you I didn't want the
money. I have more than six hundred pounds a year, and never spend
quite all of it."

Lashmar durst not raise his eyes lest a gleam of joy should betray him.
He knew now what he had so long desired to know. Six hundred a year; it
was enough.

"You are very kind. That relieves me. For two or three days I have been
in despair. Yes, you shall hear all about it. I owe you the whole
truth, for no one ever understood me as you did, and no one ever gave
me such help--of every kind. First of all, about my engagement to Miss
Bride. It's at an end. But more than that it wasn't a real engagement
at all. We tried to play a comedy, and the end has been tragic."

Iris drew a deep breath of wonder. Her little lips were parted, her
little eyebrows made a high arch; she had the face of a child who
listens to a strange and half terrifying story.

"Don't you see how it was?" he exclaimed, in a subdued voice of
melodious sadness. "Lady Ogram discovered that her niece--you remember
May Tomalin? thought rather too well of me. This did not suit her
views; she had planned a marriage between May and Lord Dymchurch. You
know what her temper was. One day she gave me the choice: either I
married Constance Bride, or I never entered her house again. Imagine my
position. Think of me, with my ambitions, my pride, and the debt I had
incurred to you. Can you blame me much if, seeing that Lady Ogram's
life might end any day, I met her tyranny by stratagem. How I longed to
tell you the truth! But I felt bound in honour to silence. Constance
Bride, my friend and never anything more, agreed to the pretence of an
engagement. Wasn't it brave of her? And so things went on, until the
day when Dymchurch came down to Rivenoak, and proposed to May. The
silly girl refused him. There was a terrible scene, such as I hope
never to behold again. May was driven forth from the house, and Lady
Ogram, just as she was bidding me take steps for my immediate marriage,
fell to the ground u