“If I could see the young woman and speak to her,” Iris said, “I should like to decide the question of engaging her, for myself.”
The lady knew the address of her discharged servant, and — with some appearance of wonder — communicated it. Miss Henley wrote at once, telling Fanny Mere to come to her on the following day.
When she woke on the next morning, later than usual, an event occurred which Iris had been impatiently expecting for some time past. She found a letter waiting on her bedside table, side by side with her cup of tea. Lord Harry had written to her at last.
Whether he used his pen or his tongue, the Irish lord’s conduct was always more or less in need of an apology. Here were the guilty one’s new excuses, expressed in his customary medley of frank confession and flowery language:
“I am fearing, my angel, that I have offended you. You have too surely said to yourself, This miserable Harry might have made me happy by writing two lines — and what does he do? He sends a message in words which tell me nothing.
“My sweet girl, the reason why is that I was in two minds when your man stopped me on my way to the ship.
“Whether it was best for you — I was not thinking of myself — to confess the plain truth, or to take refuge in affectionate equivocation, was more than I could decide at the time. When minutes are enough for your intelligence, my stupidity wants days. Well! I saw it at last. A man owes the truth to a true woman; and you are a true woman. There you find a process of reasoning — I have been five days getting hold of it.
“But tell me one thing first. Brutus killed a man; Charlotte Corday killed a man. One of the two victims was a fine tyrant, and the other a mean tyrant. Nobody blames those two historical assassins. Why then blame me for wishing to make a third? Is a mere modern murderer beneath my vengeance, by comparison with two classical tyrants who did their murders by deputy? The man who killed Arthur Mountjoy is (next to Cain alone) the most atrocious homicide that ever trod the miry ways of this earth. There is my reply! I call it a crusher.