"But, oh, he is so different! And the others, you know, keep to the
subject."

"So should he, then. Why didn't he?"

"But he hasn't. And I have been answering him, and he must think that
I was drawing him on to tell me more about himself; and now--oh, what
will he think? I drew him on and on--yet I didn't mean to--till at
last he writes to say that he regards me as the best friend and the
wisest adviser he has ever had. What will he think and say?
Grandfather, it is dreadful!"

"What did you tell him for, Iris, my dear? Why couldn't you let things
go on? And by telling him you will lose your pupil."

"Yes, of course; and, worse still, I shall lose his letters. We live
so quietly here that his letters have come to me like news of another
world. How many different worlds are there all round one in London? It
has been pleasant to read of that one in which ladies go about
beautifully dressed always, and where the people have nothing to do
but to amuse themselves. He has told me about this world in which he
lives, and about his own life, so that I know everything he does, and
where he goes; and"--here she sighed heavily--"of course it could not
go on forever; and I should not mind so much if it had not been
carried on under false pretenses."

"No false pretenses at all, my dear. Don't think it."

"I sent back his last check," she said, trying to find a little