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Woolstan had some skill in music. Iris's widowhood was of five years' duration. At two and twenty she had married a government-office clerk, a man nearly twice her age, exasperated by routine and lack of advancement; on her part it was a marriage of generosity; she did not love the man, but was touched by his railing against fate, and fancied she might be able to aid his ambitions.
"Surely Providence would not desert her after such an escape. What a weak beggar I must be to give in at the last moment. I am sure she was living when we got ashore. What on earth can I do to revive her?" Forgetful of his own aching limbs in this newborn anxiety, he sank on one knee and gently pillowed Iris's head and shoulders on the other.
A very fine character, but it made Iris's cheek to burn and her eyes to drop. To be sure she was not rich, nor did she know the world; so far her pupil was right, but yet she was not gray nor old. And, again, she was not, as he thought, a man. Letter-writing is not extinct, as it is a commonplace to affirm, and as people would have us believe.
Within forty seconds of Iris's shrill cry the sailor was breast high with the ledge and calling to her "All right, old girl. Keep it up!" The cheerful confidence of his words had a wonderful effect on her. Iris, like every good woman, had the maternal instinct strong within her the instinct that inspires alike the mild-eyed Sister of Charity and the tigress fighting for her cubs.
Really, there was nothing to do; Iris's money simply passed into her own hands on the event of her marriage. It would be time enough to talk of such things presently. They spent nearly all the last day together.
He showed the photograph which Lala Roy had given him. "Oh, yes; it is a likeness of Dr. Washington, Iris's adopted brother and guardian. She must have dropped it. I should think it was taken a few years back, but it is still a very good likeness. A handsome man, is he not? He grows upon one rather. His parting words with Iris yesterday were very dignified and touching."
I shall have the pleasure of watching you from a distance, and of sincerely wishing you happiness as well as success." The formal style of this letter, so different from Iris's ordinary effusions, made sufficient proof of the mood in which it was written. Dyce bit his lips over it. He had foreseen that Mrs. Woolstan would hear of his engagement, but had hoped it would not be just yet.
I will see that his draft is honored. You can add, if you like, that another ten will be ready if wanted when this lot is spent. I did my lad one d er deuced bad turn in my life. This time, I think, I am doing him a good one." "You are, indeed," said Iris's father enthusiastically. "The unallotted capital he is taking up will be worth four times its face value in two years."
"You would never have known that the incident had happened, Sir John." "In other words, the poor despairing Chinamen, clinging to their little craft with some chance of escape, would be quietly murdered to suit our convenience." It was Iris's clear voice that rang out this downright exposition of the facts. Sir John shook his head; he carried the discussion no further.
Abandoning the argument, he clasped his rough head with both hands and bent muttering over his task. The lines he had just repeated stayed in Iris's mind like the sound of very peaceful music, and changed the direction of her thoughts, for now they turned, as her long needle went in and out of the grey sock, to her godmother's house and garden in the country.
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