Even her name sounded favourably in the ear of a
stranger--it was Fanny Mere. Iris asked how a servant, apparently
possessed of a faultless character, came to be in want of a situation.
At this question the lady sighed, and acknowledged that she had "made a
dreadful discovery," relating to the past life of her maid. It proved
to be the old, the miserably old, story of a broken promise of
marriage, and of the penalty paid as usual by the unhappy woman. "I
will say nothing of my own feelings," the maiden lady explained. "In
justice to the other female servants, it was impossible for me to keep
such a person in my house; and, in justice to you, I must most
unwillingly stand in the way of Fanny Mere's prospects by mentioning my
reason for parting with her."
"If I could see the young woman and speak to her," Iris said, "I should
like to decide the question of engaging her, for myself."
The lady knew the address of her discharged servant, and--with some
appearance of wonder--communicated it. Miss Henley wrote at once,
telling Fanny Mere to come to her on the following day.
When she woke on the next morning, later than usual, an event occurred
which Iris had been impatiently expecting for some time past.
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