The person who entered the presence of Iris and Charles Broughton at
the latter’s invitation, was Mr. Gerald Dare, the young man who had
recognized Iris while walking with Broughton on the night of Mrs.
Mason’s death.
At sight of Iris now, seated in close proximity to his friend
Broughton, Dare was literally spellbound, and found it impossible to
conceal his astonishment.
“Iris Hilton!” he exclaimed, involuntarily uttering the name by which
he had known her; and then catching the angry, indignant look in
Broughton’s eyes, he sought to offer some apology for his rudeness. As
for Iris herself, she uttered no word or sound.
“You told me to call at this hour, Broughton,” began Dare in a confused
and hesitating manner; to which Broughton replied with a laugh:
“Of course I did, my dear boy, and we’ll settle our little business at
once. Come downstairs with me, if you please; Iris will excuse me and
remain here until I return to her, will you not, my dear?”
At this pointed question Iris lifted her face quickly with an angry,
rebellious flash in her deep blue eyes, but the words she would have
spoken died on her lips as she encountered his glance, and she could
only bow her head in silence.
Finding herself alone a moment later, she tried to collect her
thoughts, and to arrange some plan for her future, but the weight of
her mother’s sin was too heavy upon her, and she seemed alike incapable
of thought or action.
“My duty is to obey him, and to so repair the wrong my mother has
done him as to win him from his scheme of vengeance,” was the noble
thought that came to Iris, even in this hour of her bitter humiliation
and pain; and when Broughton--as we will still call the man who had
declared his real name to be Carleton Tresilian--returned to the room
after dismissing his visitor, Iris, white as the dead, but calm and
tearless, met him with words that filled his heart with a thousand
varying emotions.
“What can I do to repair the cruel wrong you have suffered at my
mother’s hands? I am only a girl, weak and painfully ignorant of the
world and its ways; but you say you are my father, and I am ready to
obey you--what would you have me do?”
She was standing before him now, with her beautiful white face upturned
to him, and her hands clasped tightly before her, showing the strong
effort she was making to control her agitation.
If Iris had borne less resemblance to the woman who had wronged him,
his heart might have softened to the innocent offspring, but now the
girl’s beauty only recalled to mind the tortures her mother had forced
him to endure, and he laughed mockingly at her efforts to conciliate
him.
“My dear, I know you will obey me, simply for the reason that I shall
compel you to do so. I do not intend to ask any great sacrifice at your
hands; but before I state what I shall require of you, I want you to
tell me why you left the home of your mother’s husband so suddenly, and
why you fled from the man who was willing to marry you--the wealthy
Chester St. John. I have followed up your history pretty closely since
I first looked upon your face in the room occupied by the sewing girl,
Jenny Mason, but the cause of your leaving Mr. Hilton’s protection I
have not as yet been able to discover. Please tell me the truth of the
matter at once.”
“I left Mr. Hilton’s roof immediately upon learning that I had no legal
right to the benefits he conferred on me; and as for Mr. St. John--you
know that I would not marry him, believing myself the child of a felon!”
“Your home shall be with me for the future--at least until I can find
a good husband for you. This is my residence, and as you may observe,
it is pretty comfortable. I have no women in the house save one old
negress, who attends to the chamber work. All the rest of my servants
are males, and colored. I shall teach them to look upon you as their
mistress, and I do not think you will find it any trouble to manage
them. I receive a great many friends here almost every evening, and I
shall expect you to help me entertain them. My friends are gentlemen
always, and we employ our time in the enjoyment of a social game of
cards. All I shall require of you, Iris, will be to dress handsomely,
look your prettiest, and make yourself agreeable to my comrades and
friends. Do you understand?”
Iris had listened to his words with a look of intense horror gradually
creeping into the blue depths of her wide, dilated eyes.
She did understand his plan, probably more thoroughly than he had
intended her to do. She had read repeatedly of the fashionable gambling
dens to which men were lured by the beauty of some fair woman who was
employed for no other purpose than to tempt them hither.
She faced Charles Broughton suddenly, with a flash of defiance in her
great, lustrous eyes.
“I shall not remain in this house; I shall not do what you ask of me.
If you were poor--though you were guilty of any sin--I would work for
you; yes, beg for you, I think, willingly, but to live in luxury, as a
decoy for gamblers, this I cannot and shall not do, nor can you compel
me to do so. Let me go away; I ask nothing from you; I never wish to
see your face again.”
She made a step toward the door as she ceased speaking, but Broughton
placed himself before it, laughing mockingly.
“Not so fast, my dear,” he said, with a sneer. “I have a few words
more to say to you, before you take your departure. I shall not try to
detain you here by force, but there is one thing I would like you to
remember. The day is not far distant when you shall come to me and beg
for a shelter under the roof you now despise. Go, now, if you will, but
I advise you to think twice before you do so. I am not one to threaten
idly, nor to forget a threat once uttered. The offer I first made you
is still open to you, and----”
“And I still refuse to accept it as resolutely as before. Let me go
from this house, and I can trust my after fate with God. I am not
afraid that He will desert me; please stand aside and let me pass.”
“Very well, Miss Iris, have your own way in this matter; but remember
my warning,” he said quietly, and then opened the door for her, and
even preceded her to the lower hallway, and stood on the steps until
she had left the house.
Once in the open air, Iris felt that she could breathe more freely, and
a weight seemed lifted off her heart as she turned her steps in the
direction of the humble abode in which she occupied a room with Jenny
Mason.
At the very moment when Iris was descending the broad stone steps of
the house in Lexington Avenue, a limousine was passing the door, and
from the window of the vehicle a lady’s face looked out--the face of
the rich widow who was Charles Broughton’s affianced wife.
Clara Neville had glanced toward the house occupied by the man she
loved with some vague hope of seeing his face near one of the windows,
or perhaps fancying that he might recognize her car and come down to
speak with her.
There had been a smile on her lips, and a happy expression on her face
when she turned toward the window that commanded the best view of
Broughton’s residence, but this look had changed with the swiftness of
a lightning’s flash to one of the wildest jealousy and intense hatred
when her eyes fell upon the figure of Iris descending the steps from
his door, and of Broughton himself standing in the doorway, and so
intent on watching the girl’s retreating form that he did not once
glance toward her car as it passed.
Almost choking with rage the widow pulled the check string and
instructed her chauffeur to turn at the corner and keep Iris in sight
until she reached her destination, no matter to what part of the city
she might lead him.
“All right, ma’am,” the man answered respectfully, and while Iris
walked slowly toward the place she called home, there was no voice in
her heart to tell her of the woman who followed on her track and was
destined to be the most cruel and bitter enemy against whom she would
be forced to contend in the new and strange life now opening before
her.