That one swift glance into his eyes reassured her. She knew that he shared, or pretended to share, the common belief that Broughton was her lover, and she dared say nothing to undeceive him.
“I can tell you nothing at present, but some time you will know all, and learn how deeply you have wronged me. My mother will forgive me then, and bitterly regret her cruelty.”
She took a step toward the door as she concluded, keeping her eyes turned resolutely away from the face of Chester St. John, lest the sight of it should rob her of the last remnant of strength she was struggling so hard to maintain.
Isabel had thrown herself into an easy-chair near the door, and was holding her handkerchief to her face as if deeply affected by the scene, while Oscar Hilton was perhaps the most excited of all the little group.
He feared to detain Iris lest something should be said to betray his plot, and he dared not let her go forth alone lest St. John should follow to protect her, and thus learn all the truth.
Mr. Hilton himself was puzzled to account for the mystery of Iris’ connection with Broughton, for, from his own experience of his wife’s beautiful daughter, he knew her to be pure as the untrodden snow, and utterly incapable of the sin of which she stood accused.
Whatever the cause of the singular emotion she had betrayed at his chance mention of Broughton’s name, he—Hilton—was satisfied with the effect upon St. John, seeing as he did that the latter’s newly awakened faith in the girl he had loved so devotedly was again shattered.
Mr. Hilton made haste to respond to Iris’ last words before St. John had time to speak, if such had been that gentleman’s intention.
“My dear child, if you can prove to us that we have wronged you, I, for one, shall be happy, both for your own sake and that of the woman who bears my name, your mother; and now, Iris, I shall appropriate the car of one of my guests to take you to your home, as you are looking weak and ill, and it is nearly midnight. St. John, I may have your machine for this purpose, may I not?”
At this direct appeal, Chester—who had crossed the room, and stood leaning against the low marble mantel, with his eyes bent on the floor, and his face pale with an agony he did not endeavor to conceal—advanced quickly to the spot on which Iris stood, with a look in his eyes that filled Oscar Hilton with fear.