Sometimes
they boldly put the question to him. The hot temper of an Irishman, in
moments of excitement, is not infrequently a sweet temper in moments of
calm. What they called Lord Harry's good-nature owned readily that he
had been indebted, on certain occasions, to the protection of a false
beard, And perhaps a colouring of his face and hair to match. The same
easy disposition now asserted itself, under the merciless enmity of
Mrs. Vimpany's eyes. "If I have done anything to offend you," he said,
with an air of puzzled humility, "I'm sure I am sorry for it. Don't be
angry, Arabella, with an old friend. Why won't you shake hands?"
"I have kept your secret, and done your dirty work," Mrs. Vimpany
replied. "And what is my reward? Miss Henley can tell you how your
Irish blundering has ruined me in a lady's estimation. Shake hands,
indeed! You will never shake hands with Me again as long as you live!"
She said those words without looking at him; her eyes were resting on
Iris now. From the moment when she had seen the two together, she knew
that it was all over; further denial in the face of plain proofs would
be useless indeed! Submission was the one alternative left.
"Miss Henley," she said, "if you can feel pity for another woman's
sorrow and shame, let me have a last word with you--out of this man's
hearing.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164