Watching her
attentively--affected, it was impossible to say how, by that mute
distress--Fanny Mere proposed to go downstairs, and ask once more what
hope there might be for the wounded man. Iris knew the doctor too well
to let the maid leave her on a useless errand.
"Some men might be kindly ready to relieve my suspense," she said; "the
man downstairs is not one of them. I must wait till he comes to me, or
sends for me. But there is something I wish to say to you, while we are
alone. You have been but a short time in my service, Fanny. Is it too
soon to ask if you feel some interest in me?"
"If I can comfort you or help you, Miss, be pleased to tell me how."
She made that reply respectfully, in her usual quiet manner; her pale
cheeks showing no change of colour, her faint blue eyes resting
steadily on her mistress's face. Iris went on:
"If I ask you to keep what has happened, on this dreadful day, a secret
from everybody, may I trust you--little as you know of me--as I might
have trusted Rhoda Bennet?"
"I promise it, Miss." In saying those few words, the undemonstrative
woman seemed to think that she had said enough.
Iris had no alternative but to ask another favour.
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