Finding it impossible, judging by a first impression, to arrive at any
immediate decision favourable or adverse to the stranger, Iris opened
the interview with her customary frankness; leaving the consequences to
follow as they might.
"Take a seat, Fanny," she said, "and let us try if we can understand
each other. I think you will agree with me that there must be no
concealments between us. You ought to know that your mistress has told
me why she parted with you. It was her duty to tell me the truth, and
it is my duty not to be unjustly prejudiced against you after what I
have heard. Pray believe me when I say that I don't know, and don't
wish to know, what your temptation may have been--"
"I beg your pardon, Miss, for interrupting you. My temptation was
vanity."
Whether she did or did not suffer in making that confession, it was
impossible to discover. Her tones were quiet; her manner was
unobtrusively respectful; the pallor of her face was not disturbed by
the slightest change of colour. Was the new maid an insensible person?
Iris began to fear already that she might have made a mistake.
"I don't expect you to enter into particulars," she said; "I don't ask
you here to humiliate yourself."
"When I got your letter, Miss, I tried to consider how I might show
myself worthy of your kindness," Fanny answered. "The one way I could
see was not to let you think better of me than I deserve. When a
person, like me, is told, for the first time, that her figure makes
amends for her face, she is flattered by the only compliment that has
been paid to her in all her life. My excuse, Miss (if I have an excuse)
is a mean one---I couldn't resist a compliment. That is all I have to
say."