Blind Love

After an interval of nearly half an hour, Mr. Vimpany made his

appearance. Pausing in the doorway, he consulted his watch, and entered

on a calculation which presented him favourably from a professional

point of view.

"Allow for time lost in reviving my lord when he fainted, and stringing

him up with a drop of brandy, and washing my hands (look how clean they

are!), I haven't been more than twenty minutes in mending his throat.

Not bad surgery, Miss Henley."

"Is his life safe, Mr. Vimpany?"

"Thanks to his luck--yes."

"His luck?"

"To be sure! In the first place, he owes his life to your finding him

when you did; a little later, and it would have been all over with Lord

Harry. Second piece of luck: catching the doctor at home, just when he

was most wanted. Third piece of luck: our friend didn't know how to cut

his own throat properly. You needn't look black at me, Miss; I'm not

joking. A suicide with a razor in his hand has generally one chance in

his favour--he is ignorant of anatomy. That is my lord's case. He has

only cut through the upper fleshy part of his throat, and has missed

the larger blood vessels. Take my word for it, he will do well enough

now; thanks to you, thanks to me, and thanks to his own ignorance. What

do you say to that way of putting it? Ha! my brains are in good working

order to-day; I haven't been drinking any of Mr. Mountjoy's claret--do

you take the joke, Miss Henley?"

Chuckling over the recollection of his own drunken audacity, he

happened to notice Fanny Mere.

"Hullo! is this another injured person in want of me? You're as white

as a sheet, Miss. If you're going to faint, do me a favour--wait till I

can get the brandy-bottle. Oh! it's natural to you, is it? I see. A

thick skin and a slow circulation; you will live to be an old woman. A

friend of yours, Miss Henley?"

Fanny answered composedly for herself: "I am Miss Henley's maid, sir."

"What's become of the other one?" Mr. Vimpany asked. "Aye? aye? Staying

at a farm-house for the benefit of her health, is she? If I had been

allowed time enough, I would have made a cure of Rhoda Bennet. There

isn't a medical man in England who knows more than I do of the nervous

maladies of women--and what is my reward? Is my waiting-room crammed

with rich people coming to consult me? Do I live in a fashionable

Square? Have I even been made a Baronet? Damn it--I beg your pardon,

Miss Henley--but it is irritating, to a man of my capacity, to be

completely neglected. For the last three days not a creature has

darkened the doors of this house. Could I say a word to you?"