The name struck a chill to Iris's very heart. She retired modestly to a corner of the room and bent her face over her book. Had Lady Dacre recognised her yesterday? Would she say anything about it if she had? Could anything be more unlucky? She sat and trembled as she turned these things over in her mind, and listened anxiously to the conversation, but at present it did not approach any dangerous subject. The ladies were discussing the weather, the want of rain, the new vicar, Lady Dacre's rheumatism, and the unreasonable behaviour of Miss Munnion. So far all was safe. How would it do to slip out of the room while they were so busily engaged? Iris got up and moved cautiously towards the door, but, unfortunately, she was so occupied in trying to tread very softly that she forgot the book in her hand, and it slid to the floor with a loud thump. The conversation stopped, and Lady Dacre turned her good-natured face in the direction of the noise. She was a nice-looking pink-faced old lady, with silver hair, and a cozy black satin bonnet. "So you have your little god-daughter with you still?" she said to Mrs Fotheringham. "Ah, I recollect we met yesterday in the Dinham Road." Iris looked beseechingly at her, but she only nodded and smiled comfortably. "In the Dinham Road!" repeated Mrs Fotheringham, "what were you doing in the Dinham Road alone, Iris?" "Oh, she wasn't alone," said Lady Dacre kindly, "she had a gallant steed and a charioteer to take care of her. She was coming along in very fine style. I remember thinking, as I saw her, what a capital thing it was to be twelve years old." She laughed, and got up as she spoke to go away, perfectly unconscious of poor Iris's despair. As her guest left the room Mrs Fotheringham's darkest frown gathered on her forehead. "_Did_ you meet Lady Dacre yesterday?" she asked, and then added coldly, "Perhaps it was one of Moore's daughters she mistook for you." For a brief moment the possibility of taking advantage of this idea darted through Iris's mind, but she let it go, and answered faintly: "I _did_ meet her." "Where were you, and with whom?" When her godmother spoke so very distinctly Iris knew how angry she was, and it was dreadfully difficult to answer at first. Presently, however, gathering courage she lifted her head and said almost defiantly: "In the donkey-cart with Moore." "Did you drive to Dinham with him?" "No." "How did you get there?" "I ran across the fields." "And with what purpose beside that of disobeying me?" "To fetch--" Iris stopped; she was approaching the fatal forbidden subject. "To fetch what?" "Medicine." "Don't tell me untruths," said Mrs Fotheringham still more icily; "what could you want medicine for?" "I'm telling the truth," said Iris indignantly; "it was for--" "Well, well, well," said Mrs Fotheringham impatiently, "for--" "Moore's baby," finished Iris, almost in a whisper.