'Then show me in.'
Fanny opened the door of a room on the ground floor, and announced: 'Mr. Mountjoy.'
The two men were smoking; Iris was watering some flowers in the window. Her colour instantly faded when Hugh entered the room. In doubt and alarm, her eyes questioned Lord Harry. He was in his sweetest state of good-humour. Urged by the genial impulse of the moment, he set the example of a cordial reception. 'This is an agreeable surprise, indeed,' he said, shaking hands with Mountjoy in his easy amiable way. 'It's kind of you to come and see us.' Relieved of anxiety (evidently when she had not expected it), Iris eagerly followed her husband's example: her face recovered its colour, and brightened with its prettiest smile. Mr. Vimpany stood in a corner; his cigar went out: his own wife would hardly have known him again—he actually presented an appearance of embarrassment! Lord Harry burst out laughing: 'Look at him Iris! The doctor is shy for the first time in his life.' The Irish good-humour was irresistible. The young wife merrily echoed her husband's laugh. Mr. Vimpany, observing the friendly reception offered to Hugh, felt the necessity of adapting himself to circumstances. He came out of his corner with an apology: 'Sorry I misbehaved myself, Mr. Mountjoy, when I called on you in London. Shake hands. No offence—eh?' Iris, in feverish high spirits, mimicked the doctor's coarse tones when he repeated his favourite form of excuse. Lord Harry clapped his hands, delighted with his wife's clever raillery: 'Ha! Mr. Mountjoy, you don't find that her married life has affected her spirits! May I hope that you have come here to breakfast? The table is ready as you see'——
'And I have been taking lessons, Hugh, in French ways of cooking eggs,' Iris added; 'pray let me show you what I can do.' The doctor chimed in facetiously: 'I'm Lady Harry's medical referee; you'll find her French delicacies half digested for you, sir, before you can open your mouth: signed, Clarence Vimpany, member of the College of Surgeons.' Remembering Mrs. Vimpany's caution, Hugh concealed his distrust of this outbreak of hospitable gaiety, and made his excuses. Lord Harry followed, with more excuses, on his part. He deplored it—but he was obliged to go out. Had Mr. Mountjoy met with the new paper which was to beat 'Galiguani' out of the field? The 'Continental Herald '—there was the title. 'Forty thousand copies of the first number have just flown all over Europe; we have our agencies in every town of importance, at every point of the compass; and, one of the great proprietors, my dear sir, is the humble individual who now addresses you.' His bright eyes sparkled with boyish pleasure, as he made that announcement of his own importance. If Mr. Mountjoy would kindly excuse him, he had an appointment at the office that morning. 'Get your hat, Vimpany. The fact is our friend here carries a case of consumption in his pocket; consumption of the purse, you understand. I am going to enrol him among the contributors to the newspaper. A series of articles (between ourselves) exposing the humbug of physicians, and asserting with fine satirical emphasis the overstocked state of the medical profession. Ah, well! you'll be glad (won't you?) to talk over old times with Iris. My angel, show our good friend the 'Continental Herald,' and mind you keep him here till we get back. Doctor, look alive! Mr. Mountjoy, au revoir.' They shook hands again heartily. As Mrs. Vimpany had confessed, there was no resisting the Irish lord.
But Hugh's strange experience of that morning was not at an end, yet.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE BRIDE AT HOME
LEFT alone with the woman whose charm still held him to her, cruelly as she had tried his devotion by her marriage, Mountjoy found the fluent amiability of the husband imitated by the wife. She, too, when the door had hardly closed on Lord Harry, was bent on persuading Hugh that her marriage had been the happiest event of her life.
'Will you think the worse of me,' she began, 'if I own that I had little expectation of seeing you again?'
'Certainly not, Iris.'
'Consider my situation,' she went on. 'When I remember how you tried (oh, conscientiously tried!) to prevent my marriage—how you predicted the miserable results that would follow, if Harry's life and my life became one— could I venture to hope that you would come here, and judge for yourself? Dear and good friend, I have nothing to fear from the result; your presence was never more welcome to me than it is now!'
Whether it was attributable to prejudice on Mountjoy's part, or to keen and just observation, he detected something artificial in the ring of her enthusiasm; there was not the steady light of truth in her eyes, which he remembered in the past and better days of their companionship. He was a little—just a little—irritated. The temptation to remind her that his distrust of Lord Harry had once been her distrust too, proved to be more than his frailty could resist.
'Your memory is generally exact,' he said; 'but it hardly serves you now as well as usual.'
'What have I forgotten?'
'You have forgotten the time, my dear, when your opinion was almost as strongly against a marriage with Lord Harry as mine.'
Her answer was ready on the instant: 'Ah, I didn't know him then as well as I know him now!'
Some men, in Mountjoy's position, might have been provoked into hinting that there were sides to her husband's character which she had probably not discovered yet. But Hugh's gentle temper—ruffled for a moment only—had recovered its serenity. Her friend was her true friend still; he said no more on the subject of her marriage.
'Old habits are not easily set aside,' he reminded her. 'I have been so long accustomed to advise you and help you, that I find myself hoping there may be some need for my services still. Is there no way in which I might relieve you of the hateful presence of Mr. Vimpany?'
'My dear Hugh, I wish you had not mentioned Mr. Vimpany.'
Mountjoy concluded that the subject was disagreeable to her. 'After the opinion of him which you expressed in your letter to me,' he said, 'I ought not to have spoken of the doctor. Pray forgive me.'
Iris looked distressed. 'Oh, you are quite mistaken! The poor doctor has been sadly misjudged; and I'—she shook her head, and sighed penitently—'and, I,' she resumed, 'am one among other people who have ignorantly wronged him. Pray consult my husband. Hear what he can tell you—and you will pity Mr. Vimpany. The newspaper makes such large demands on our means that we can do little to help him. With your recommendation he might find some employment.'
'He has already asked me to assist him, Iris; and I have refused. I can't agree with your change of opinion about Mr. Vimpany.'
'Why not? Is it because he has separated from his wife?'
'That is one reason, among many others,' Mountjoy replied.
