showed itself again. He put his hands in his pockets.

"You and your father have had another quarrel," he said, stopping
opposite Iris.

"I don't deny it," she replied.

"Who is to blame?"

She smiled bitterly. "The woman is always to blame."

"Did your father tell you that?"

"My father reminded me that I was twenty-one years old, last
birthday--and told me that I could do as I liked. I understood him, and
I left the house."

"You will go back again, I suppose?"

"I don't know."

Sir Giles began pacing the room once more. His rugged face, telling its
story of disaster and struggle in early life, showed signs of
disappointment and distress.

"Hugh promised to write to me," he said, "and he has not written. I
know what that means; I know what you have done to offend your father.
My nephew has asked you to marry him for the second time. And for the
second time you have refused."