"You don't mean that anything's wrong?" she panted.
"We'll hope not, but it looks queer."
"Oh!" cried Iris. "He has money of mine. He is my trustee."
"I know that. Please excuse me; I really mustn't stay."
"Oh, but tell me, Mr. Barker!" She clutched at his coat sleeve. "Is my money in danger?"
"I can't say, but you certainly ought to look after it. Get someone to make inquiries at once; that's my advice. I really must go."
He disappeared, leaving Iris motionless in amazement and terror.
CHAPTER XXX
The wedding was to be a very quiet one. Lashmar would have preferred the civil ceremony, at the table of the registrar, with musty casuals for witnesses; but Iris shrank from this. It must be at a church, and with a few friends looking on, or surely people would gossip. Had he been marrying an heiress, Dyce would have called for pomp and circumstance, with portraits in the fashion papers, and every form of advertisement which society has contrived. As it was, he desired to slink through the inevitable. He was ashamed; he was confounded; and only did not declare it. To the very eve of the wedding-day, his mind ferreted elusive hopes. Had men and gods utterly forsaken him? In solitude, he groaned and gnashed his teeth. And no deliverance came.