He turned into the stable-yard, helped Iris carefully down, and said slowly, as though he were continuing a previous speech:
“And I take it main kind of yer, missie, to have fetched the stuff for the little un.”
To her relief Iris found that it was only half-past five, and that her godmother had not missed her from the house. The great adventure seemed likely to remain undiscovered, and she went to bed feeling glad she had fetched the medicine, though a little ashamed of keeping it a secret. She had no fear, however, that her disobedience would have any uncomfortable results; though in this she was mistaken, as is often the case when we judge of things too hastily. For the very next afternoon, while she was reading aloud to Mrs Fotheringham, the door opened and the maid-servant announced a visitor—Lady Dacre.
The name struck a chill to Iris’s very heart. She retired modestly to a corner of the room and bent her face over her book. Had Lady Dacre recognised her yesterday? Would she say anything about it if she had? Could anything be more unlucky? She sat and trembled as she turned these things over in her mind, and listened anxiously to the conversation, but at present it did not approach any dangerous subject. The ladies were discussing the weather, the want of rain, the new vicar, Lady Dacre’s rheumatism, and the unreasonable behaviour of Miss Munnion. So far all was safe. How would it do to slip out of the room while they were so busily engaged? Iris got up and moved cautiously towards the door, but, unfortunately, she was so occupied in trying to tread very softly that she forgot the book in her hand, and it slid to the floor with a loud thump. The conversation stopped, and Lady Dacre turned her good-natured face in the direction of the noise. She was a nice-looking pink-faced old lady, with silver hair, and a cozy black satin bonnet.
“So you have your little god-daughter with you still?” she said to Mrs Fotheringham. “Ah, I recollect we met yesterday in the Dinham Road.”
Iris looked beseechingly at her, but she only nodded and smiled comfortably.
“In the Dinham Road!” repeated Mrs Fotheringham, “what were you doing in the Dinham Road alone, Iris?”
“Oh, she wasn’t alone,” said Lady Dacre kindly, “she had a gallant steed and a charioteer to take care of her. She was coming along in very fine style. I remember thinking, as I saw her, what a capital thing it was to be twelve years old.”
She laughed, and got up as she spoke to go away, perfectly unconscious of poor Iris’s despair.
As her guest left the room Mrs Fotheringham’s darkest frown gathered on her forehead.