Iris replied coldly. "This is not my house," she said; "I must leave
you to decide for yourself."
Lord Harry crossed the room to speak to her and stopped. There was no
sign of relenting towards him in that dearly-loved face. "I wonder
whether it would be a relief to you," he suggested with piteous
humility, "if I went away?"
If she had been true to herself, she would have said, Yes. Where is the
woman to be found, in her place, with a heart hard enough to have set
her that example? She pointed to a chair. He felt her indulgence
gratefully. Following the impulse of the moment, he attempted to excuse
his conduct.
"There is only one thing I can say for myself," he confessed, "I didn't
begin by deceiving you. While you had your eye on me, Iris, I was an
honourable man."
This extraordinary defence reduced her to silence. Was there another
man in the world who would have pleaded for pardon in that way? "I'm
afraid I have not made myself understood," he said. "May I try again?"
"If you please."
The vagabond nobleman made a resolute effort to explain himself
intelligibly, this time:
"See now! We said good-bye, over there, in the poor old island. Well,
indeed I meant it, when I owned that I was unworthy of you.
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