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Blind Love

Page 85

At the third attempt to provide herself with a servant, Iris was able

to report the discovery of a responsible person who told the truth--an

unmarried lady of middle age.

In this case, the young woman was described as a servant thoroughly

trained in the performance of her duties, honest, sober, industrious,

of an even temper, and unprovided with a "follower" in the shape of a

sweetheart. Even her name sounded favourably in the ear of a

stranger--it was Fanny Mere. Iris asked how a servant, apparently

possessed of a faultless character, came to be in want of a situation.

At this question the lady sighed, and acknowledged that she had "made a

dreadful discovery," relating to the past life of her maid. It proved

to be the old, the miserably old, story of a broken promise of

marriage, and of the penalty paid as usual by the unhappy woman. "I

will say nothing of my own feelings," the maiden lady explained. "In

justice to the other female servants, it was impossible for me to keep

such a person in my house; and, in justice to you, I must most

unwillingly stand in the way of Fanny Mere's prospects by mentioning my

reason for parting with her."

"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.

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