'Yes!'
The doctor's face showed a sudden change of expression—-a sinister and threatening change. 'Don't drive me into a corner,' he said. 'Think of it again.'
Hugh's capacity for controlling himself gave way at last.
'Do you presume to threaten me?' he said. 'Understand, if you please, that my mind is made up, and that nothing you can say or do will alter it.'
With that declaration he rose from his chair, and waited for Mr. Vimpany's departure.
The doctor put on his hat. His eyes rested on Hugh, with a look of diabolical malice: 'The time is not far off, Mr. Mountjoy, when you may be sorry you refused me.' He said those words deliberately—and took his leave.
Released from the man's presence, Hugh found himself strangely associating the interests of Iris with the language—otherwise beneath notice—which Mr. Vimpany had used on leaving the room.
In desperate straits for want of money, how would the audacious bankrupt next attempt to fill his empty purse? If he had, by any chance, renewed his relations with his Irish friend—and such an event was at least possible—his next experiment in the art of raising a loan might take him to Paris. Lord Harry had already ventured on a speculation which called for an immediate outlay of money, and which was only expected to put a profit into his pocket at some future period. In the meanwhile, his resources in money had their limits; and his current expenses would make imperative demands on an ill-filled purse. If the temptation to fail in his resolution to respect his wife's fortune was already trying his fortitude, what better excuse could be offered for yielding than the necessities of an old friend in a state of pecuniary distress?
Looking at the position of Iris, and at the complications which threatened it, from this point of view, Mountjoy left the hotel to consult with Mrs. Vimpany. It rested with her to decide whether the circumstances justified his departure for Paris.
CHAPTER XXVI
LONDON AND PARIS
INFORMED of all that Hugh could tell her relating to his interview with her husband, Mrs. Vimpany understood and appreciated his fears for the future. She failed, however, to agree with him that he would do well to take the journey to France, under present circumstances.
'Wait a little longer in London,' she said. 'If Iris doesn't write to me in the next few days there will be a reason for her silence; and in that case (as I have already told you) I shall hear from Fanny Mere. You shall see me when I get a letter from Paris.'
On the last morning in the week, Mrs. Vimpany was announced. The letter that she brought with her had been written by Fanny Mere. With the pen in her hand, the maid's remarkable character expressed itself as strongly as ever:—
'Madam,—I said I would let you know what goes on here, when I thought there was need of it. There seems to be need now. Mr. Vimpany came to us yesterday. He has the spare bedroom. My mistress says nothing, and writes nothing. For that reason, I send you the present writing.—Your humble servant, F.'
Mountjoy was perplexed by this letter, plain as it was.
'It seems strange,' he said, 'that Iris herself has not written to you. She has never hitherto concealed her opinion of Mr. Vimpany.'
'She is concealing it now,' Mr. Vimpany's wife replied gravely.
'Do you know why?'
'I am afraid I do. Iris will not hesitate at any sacrifice of herself to please Lord Harry. She will give him her money when he wants it. If he tells her to alter her opinion of my husband, she will obey him. He can shake her confidence in me, whenever he pleases; and he has very likely done it already.'
'Surely it is time for me to go to her now?' Hugh said.
'Full time,' Mrs. Vimpany admitted—'if you can feel sure of yourself. In the interests of Iris, can you undertake to be cool and careful?'
'In the interests of Iris, I can undertake anything.'
'One word more,' Mrs. Vimpany continued, 'before you take your departure. No matter whether appearances are for him, or against him, be always on your guard with my husband. Let me hear from you while you are away; and don't forget that there is an obstacle between you and Iris, which will put even your patience and devotion to a hard trial.'
'You mean her husband?'
'I do.'
There was no more to be said, Hugh set forth on his journey to Paris.
On the morning after his arrival in the French capital, Mountjoy had two alternatives to consider. He might either write to Iris, and ask when it would be convenient to her to receive him—or he might present himself unexpectedly in the cottage at Passy. Reflection convinced him that his best chance of placing an obstacle in the way of deception would be to adopt the second alternative, and to take Lord Harry and the doctor by surprise.
He went to Passy. The lively French taste had brightened the cottage with colour: the fair white window curtains were tied with rose-coloured ribbons, the blinds were gaily painted, the chimneys were ornamental, the small garden was a paradise of flowers. When Mountjoy rang the bell, the gate was opened by Fanny Mere. She looked at him in grave astonishment.
'Do they expect you?' she asked.
'Never mind that,' Hugh answered. 'Are they at home?'
'They have just finished breakfast, sir.'
'Do you remember my name?'
'Yes, sir.'
