Blind Love

From the last memorable day, on which Iris had declared to him that he

might always count on her as his friend, but never as his wife, Hugh

had resolved to subject his feelings to a rigorous control. As to

conquering his hopeless love, he knew but too well that it would

conquer him, on any future occasion when he and Iris happened to meet.

He had been true to his resolution, at what cost of suffering he, and

he alone knew. Sincerely, unaffectedly, he had tried to remain her

friend. But the nature of the truest and the firmest man has its weak

place, where the subtle influence of a woman is concerned. Deeply

latent, beyond the reach of his own power of sounding, there was

jealousy of the Irish lord lurking in Mountjoy, and secretly leading

his mind when he hesitated in those emergencies of his life which were

connected with Iris. Ignorant of the influence which was really

directing him, he viewed with contempt Mr. Henley's suspicions of a

secret understanding between his daughter and the man who was, by her

own acknowledgment, unworthy of the love with which it had been her

misfortune to regard him. At the same time, Hugh's mind was reluctantly

in search of an explanation, which might account (without degrading

Iris) for her having been traced to the doctor's house. In his

recollection of events at the old country town, he found a motive for

her renewal of intercourse with such a man as Mr. Vimpany, in the

compassionate feeling with which she regarded the doctor's unhappy

wife. There might well be some humiliating circumstance, recently added

to the other trials of Mrs. Vimpany's married life, which had appealed

to all that was generous and forgiving in the nature of Iris. Knowing

nothing of the resolution to live apart which had latterly separated

the doctor and his wife, Mountjoy decided on putting his idea to the

test by applying for information to Mrs. Vimpany at her husband's

house.

In the nature of a sensitive man the bare idea of delay, under these

circumstances, was unendurable. Hugh called the first cab that passed

him, and drove to Hampstead.

Careful--morbidly careful, perhaps--not to attract attention needlessly

to himself, he stopped the cab at the entrance to Redburn Road, and

approached Number Five on foot. A servant-girl answered the door.

Mountjoy asked if Mrs. Vimpany was at home.

The girl made no immediate reply. She seemed to be puzzled by

Mountjoy's simple question. Her familiar manner, with its vulgar

assumption of equality in the presence of a stranger, revealed the

London-bred maid-servant of modern times. "Did you say Mrs. Vimpany?"

she inquired sharply.