"What is she going to do?" asked the troubled little woman, her eyes cast down.
Dyce told all that he knew of May's position. He was then questioned as to the state of things political at Hollingford: his replies were at once sanguine and disconsolate.
"Well," he said at length, "I have done my best, but fortune is against me. In coming to see you, I discharged what I felt to be a duty. Let me again thank you for your generous kindness. Now I must work, work—"
He stood an image of noble sadness, of magnanimity at issue with cruel fate. Iris glanced timidly at him; her panting showed that she wished to speak, but could not. He offered his hand; Iris took it, but only for an instant.
"I want you to tell me something else," broke from her lips.
"I will tell you anything."
"Are you in love with that girl—Miss Tomalin?"
With sorrowful dignity, he shook his head; with proud self-consciousness, he smiled.
"Nor with Miss Bride?"
"I think of her exactly as if she were a man."