outspoken sort of fellow I am, it's not likely to prove agreeable to a lady. No offence, I hope? Your humble servant is only trying to produce the right sort of impression—and takes leave to doubt his lordship in one particular.'
'In what particular, sir?'
'I'll put it in the form of a question, ma'am. Has my friend persuaded you to make arrangements for leaving the cottage?'
Iris looked at Lord Harry's friend without attempting to conceal her opinion of him.
'I call that an impertinent question,' she said. 'By what right do you presume to inquire into what my husband and I may, or may not, have said to each other?'
'Will you do me a favour, my lady? Or, if that is asking too much, perhaps you will not object to do justice to yourself. Suppose you try to exercise the virtue of self-control?
'Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany. Pray understand that you are not capable of making me angry.'
'Many thanks, Lady Harry: you encourage me to go on. When I was bold enough to speak of your leaving the cottage, my motive was to prevent you from being needlessly alarmed.'
Did this mean that he was about to take her into his confidence? All her experience of him forbade her to believe it possible. But the doubts and fears occasioned by her interview with her husband had mastered her better sense; and the effort to conceal from the doctor the anxiety under which she suffered was steadily weakening the influence of her self-respect. 'Why should I be alarmed?' she asked, in the vain hope of encouraging him to tell the truth.
The doctor arrived at a hasty conclusion, on his side. Believing that he had shaken her resolution, he no longer troubled himself to assume the forms of politeness which he had hitherto, with some difficulty, contrived to observe.
'In this curious little world of ours,' he resumed, 'we enjoy our lives on infernally hard terms. We live on condition that we die. The man I want to cure may die, in spite of the best I can do for him—-he may sink slowly, by what we medical men call a hard death. For example, it wouldn't much surprise me if I found some difficulty in keeping him in his bed. He might roam all over your cottage when my back was turned. Or he might pay the debt of Nature—as somebody calls it—with screaming and swearing. If you were within hearing of him, I'm afraid you might be terrified, and, with the best wish to be useful, I couldn't guarantee (if the worst happened) to keep him quiet. In your place, if you will allow me to advise you—'
Iris interrupted him. Instead of confessing the truth, he was impudently attempting to frighten her. 'I don't allow a person in whom I have no confidence to advise me,' she said; 'I wish to hear no more.'
Mr. Vimpany found it desirable to resume the forms of politeness. Either he had failed to shake her resolution, or she was sufficiently in possession of herself to conceal what she felt.
'One last word!' he said. 'I won't presume to advise your ladyship; I will merely offer a suggestion. My lord tells me that Hugh Mountjoy is on the way to recovery. You are in communication with him by letter, as I happened to notice when I did you that trifling service of providing a postage-stamp. Why not go to London and cheer your convalescent friend? Harry won't mind it—I beg your pardon, I ought to have said Lord Harry. Come! come! my dear lady; I am a rough fellow, but I mean well. Take a holiday, and come back to us when my lord writes to say that he can have the pleasure of receiving you again.' He waited for a moment. 'Am I not to be favoured with an answer?' he asked.
'My husband shall answer you.'
With those parting words, Iris turned her back on him.
She entered the cottage. Now in one room, and now in another, she searched for Lord Harry; he was nowhere to be found. Had he purposely gone out to avoid her? Her own remembrance of Vimpany's language and Vimpany's manner told her that so it must be—the two men were in league together. Of all dangers, unknown danger is the most terrible to contemplate. Lady Harry's last resources of resolution failed her. She dropped helplessly into a chair.
After an interval—whether it was a long or a short lapse of time she was unable to decide—someone gently opened the door. Had her husband felt for her? Had he returned? 'Come in! she cried eagerly—' come in!
CHAPTER XLV
FACT: RELATED BY FANNY
THE person who now entered the room was Fanny Mere.
But one interest was stirring in the mind of Iris now. 'Do you know where your master is?' she asked.
'I saw him go out,' the maid replied. 'Which way I didn't particularly notice—' She was on the point of adding, 'and I didn't particularly care,' when she checked herself. 'Yesterday and to-day, my lady, things have come to my knowledge which I must not keep to myself,' the resolute woman continued. 'If a servant may say such a thing without offence, I have never been so truly my mistress's friend as I am now. I beg you to forgive my boldness; there is a reason for it.'
So she spoke, with no presumption in her looks, with no familiarity in her manner. The eyes of her friendless mistress filled with tears, the offered hand of her friendless mistress answered in silence. Fanny took that kind hand, and pressed it respectfully—a more demonstrative woman than herself might perhaps have kissed it. She only said, 'Thank you, my lady,' and went on with what she felt it her duty to relate.
As carefully as usual, as quietly as usual, she repeated the conversation, at Lord Harry's table; describing also the manner in which Mr. Vimpany had discovered her as a person who understood the French language, and who had cunningly kept it a secret. In this serious state of things, the doctor—yes, the doctor himself!—had interfered to protect her from the anger of her master, and, more wonderful still, for a reason which it seemed impossible to dispute. He wanted a nurse for the foreigner whose arrival was expected on that evening, and he had offered the place to Fanny. 'Your ladyship will, I hope, excuse me; I have taken the place.'
This amazing end to the strange events which had just been narrated proved to be more than Iris was immediately capable of understanding. 'I am in the dark,' she confessed. 'Is Mr. Vimpany a bolder villain even than I have supposed him to be?'
'That he most certainly is!' Fanny said with strong conviction. 'As to what he really had in his wicked head when he engaged me, I shall find that out in time. Anyway, I am the nurse who is to help him. When I disobeyed you this morning, my lady, it was to go to the hospital with Mr. Vimpany. I was taken to see the person whose nurse I am to be. A poor, feeble, polite creature, who looked as if he couldn't hurt a fly—-and yet I promise you he
