"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.
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