Blind Love

He led Iris mysteriously into a corner of the room. "About our friend

downstairs?" he began.

"When may we hope that he will be well again, Mr. Vimpany?"

"Maybe in three weeks. In a month at most. I have nobody here but a

stupid servant girl. We ought to have a competent nurse. I can get a

thoroughly trained person from the hospital; but there's a little

difficulty. I am an outspoken man. When I am poor, I own I am poor. My

lord must be well fed; the nurse must be well fed. Would you mind

advancing a small loan, to provide beforehand for the payment of

expenses?"

Iris handed her purse to him, sick of the sight of Mr. Vimpany. "Is

that all?" she asked, making for the door.

"Much obliged. That's all."

As they approached the room on the ground floor, Iris stopped: her eyes

rested on the doctor. Even to that coarse creature, the eloquent look

spoke for her. Fanny noticed it, and suddenly turned her head aside.

Over the maid's white face there passed darkly an expression of

unutterable contempt. Her mistress's weakness had revealed

itself--weakness for one of the betrayers of women; weakness for a man!

In the meantime, Mr. Vimpany (having got the money) was ready to humour

the enviable young lady with a well-filled purse.

"Do you want to see my lord before you go?" he asked, amused at the

idea. "Mind! you mustn't disturb him! No talking, and no crying. Ready?

Now look at him."

There he lay on a shabby little sofa, in an ugly little room; his eyes

closed; one helpless hand hanging down; a stillness on his ghastly

face, horribly suggestive of the stillness of death--there he lay, the

reckless victim of his love for the woman who had desperately renounced

him again and again, who had now saved him for the third time. Ah, how

her treacherous heart pleaded for him! Can you drive him away from you

after this? You, who love him, what does your cold-blooded prudence

say, when you look at him now?

She felt herself drawn, roughly and suddenly, back into the passage.

The door was closed; the doctor was whispering to her. "Hold up, Miss!

I expected better things of you. Come! come!--no fainting. You'll find

him a different man to-morrow. Pay us a visit, and judge for yourself."

After what she had suffered, Iris hungered for sympathy. "Isn't it

pitiable?" she said to her maid as they left the house.

"I don't know, Miss."