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Suspicion, as well as surprise, appeared in Mrs. Vimpany's face. She had hitherto thought it likely that Miss Henley's gentleman-like friend might be secretly in love with the young lady. Her doubts of him, now, took a wider range of distrust. She went on up the stairs by herself, and banged the door of the private room as the easiest means of waking the sleeping man.
The doctor's wife was well acquainted with Lord Harry's past life, when he happened to be in Ireland; and she had met many of his countrymen with whom he had associated. If one of those friends happened to be the officious person who had written to him, it was at least possible that Mrs. Vimpany's discreet interference might prevent his mischievous correspondent from writing again.
"I asked you, Harry, whether the person who is to occupy our spare bedroom, to-night, was one of Mr. Vimpany's friends?" "Say one of Mr. Vimpany's patients and you will be nearer the truth," he answered, with an outburst of impatience. She could hardly believe him. "Do you mean a person who is really ill?" she said. "Of course I mean it," he said; irritated into speaking out, at last.
Incompatibility of temper, as the saying is, has led us to a friendly separation. Equally a relief on both sides. She goes her way, I go mine." His tone disgusted Iris and she let him see it. "Is it of any use to ask you for Mrs. Vimpany's address?" she inquired. His atrocious good-humour kept its balance as steadily as ever: "Sorry to disappoint you. Mrs. Vimpany hasn't given me her address.
"I say that she must have been once an actress," Mountjoy answered; "and that she carries her experience of the stage into private life." "What do you propose to do next?" "I propose to wait, and see Mrs. Vimpany's husband to-morrow." "Why?" "Mrs. Vimpany, my dear, is too clever for me.
Vimpany's husband in the presence and, to all appearance, with the consent and full knowledge of Lord Harry himself. Then her mistress was in the power of these two men villains who had now added murder to their other crimes. As for herself, she was alone, almost friendless; in a week or two she would be penniless. If she told her tale, what mischief might she not do?
Well, my sweet counsellor, no not exactly a friend of mine." She reflected for a moment. "You don't surely mean one of Mr. Vimpany's friends?" she said. He pretended not to have heard her, and pointed to the view of the garden from the window. "Isn't it a lovely day? Let's go and look at the flowers," he suggested. "Did you not hear what I said to you just now?" she persisted.
Reasoning in this rapid manner, Lord Harry let one offence pass, in his headlong eagerness to resent another. He instantly left Mountjoy. Again the carriage rattled back along the street; but it was stopped before it reached Mr. Vimpany's door. Lord Harry knew the people whom he had to deal with, and took measures to approach the house silently, on foot.
The messenger proved to be a young man employed in the secretary's office. Oxbye still persisting in his desire to be placed under Mr. Vimpany's care; one last responsibility rested on the official gentlemen now in charge of him.
"That," Mountjoy answered, "is just what I have done." For once in his life, Mr. Vimpany's self-sufficient readiness of speech failed him. He stared at his guest in dumb amazement. On this occasion, Mountjoy improved the opportunity to good purpose. Mr. Vimpany accepted with the utmost readiness an invitation to dine on the next day at the inn. But he made a condition.
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