"It's a long story," he replied, looking at her from under his eyebrows, "and I don't much care for telling it in a place like this, where all we say can be heard by anyone on the other side of the door."
Iris was watching his countenance. The cold politeness with which she had received him had become a very transparent mask; beneath it showed eager curiosity and trembling hope.
"We can go out, if you like," she said.
"And most likely meet those singular friends of yours. Who on earth are they?"
"Very nice people," replied Mrs. Woolstan, holding up her head.
"They are intolerably vulgar, and you must be aware of it. I felt ashamed to see you among them. What are you doing at a place like this? Why have you shut up your house?"
"Really," exclaimed Iris, with a flutter, "that is my business."
Lashmar's nervous irritation was at once subdued. He looked timidly at the indignant face, let his eyes fall, and murmured an apology.
"I've been going through strange things, and I'm not quite master of myself. The night before last"—his voice sunk to a hollow note—"I very nearly took poison."
"What do you mean? Poison?"