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Updated: May 13, 2025
Woolstan for about a couple of years; it was in the second twelvemonth of their acquaintance that he matured his method with regard to women, and since then he had not only practised it freely, but had often discussed it, with her. Iris gave the method her entire approval, and hailed it as the beginning of a new era for her sex.
Hair the hue of an autumn elm-leaf; eyes green or blue, as the light fell upon them; a long, thin face, faintly freckled over its creamy pallor, with narrow arch of eyebrow, indifferent nose, childlike lips and a small, pointed chin; thus may one suggest the portrait of Iris Woolstan. When Dyce Lashmar stepped into her drawing-room, she had the air of one who has been impatiently expectant.
Toplady, at her side the gentleman who had been Miss Bride's companion downstairs. "How fortunate!" exclaimed the hostess to Mrs. Woolstan. "I so want you to know Miss Tomalin, and Mr. Rossendale can take us to her." Iris voiced her delight, and looked at Lashmar, inviting him to come too. But Dyce stood rigid, an unnatural smile on his features; then he drew back, turned, and was lost to view.
As happened sometimes, he had slept too soundly; his head was not quite clear, and his nerves felt rather unsteady. This note from Mrs. Woolstan, he knew not why, caused him uneasiness; a vague prevision of ill was upon him as he read. He had intended passing the day at Alverholme, and, on the morrow, travelling to Hollingford.
But worse awaited him. Mrs. Woolstan, he learnt, would not be at home for the mid-day meal; she was with friends who had a house at Gorleston. "Where is the house?" he asked, impatiently, stamping as if his feet were cold. The woman pointed his way. "Who are the people? What is their name?" He heard it, but it conveyed nothing to him.
Woolstan, and in the morning said to himself that he would do so in the afternoon; but he disliked letter-writing, shrank at all times, indeed, from use of the pen, and ultimately the duty was postponed till to-morrow. His exertions of the evening before had left a sense of fatigue; it was enough to savour the recollection of triumph.
After a little reflection, he signed himself, "Ever yours, D. L." Having despatched this by private messenger, he went out and took a walk, choosing the direction away from Rivenoak. As he rambled along an uninteresting road, it occurred to him that he ought to write to Mrs. Woolstan.
Woolstan!" cried one of his sisters, with a shrill laugh. "It's a rule in this house to put the stopper on Jim when he begins to talk about cricket. If we didn't, there'd be no living with him." "Are you a cricketer, Mr. Mr. Lasher?" asked materfamilias, eyeing the visitor curiously. "It's a long time since I played," was the reply, uttered with scarcely veiled contempt. Mrs.
But, after all, why should she speak otherwise than nicely of me?" Whilst Iris was meditating an answer to this question, the cab pulled up at a great shop. They alighted; the driver was bidden to wait; and along the alleys of the gleaming bazaar they sought a present suitable for Leonard Woolstan.
Toplady said at once: "I know a friend of yours, Mr. Lashmar, Mrs. Woolstan. Perhaps she has spoken to you of me?" "She has," Dyce replied, remembering now that it was from Mrs. Woolstan he had heard her name. "Why, how's that?" exclaimed the hostess. "You never told me about it, Mr. Lashmar." Dyce had much ado to conceal his annoyed embarrassment. He wondered whether Mrs.
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