Blind Love

Could he have any serious motive for this irrelevant way of talking? Or

was he, to judge by his own account of himself, going round and round

the subject of his wife and his guest, before he could get at it?

Suspecting him of jealousy from the first, Hugh failed--naturally

perhaps in his position--to understand the regard for Iris, and the

fear of offending her, by which her jealous husband was restrained.

Lord Harry was attempting (awkwardly indeed!) to break off the

relations between his wife and her friend, by means which might keep

the true state of his feelings concealed from both of them. Ignorant of

this claim on his forbearance, it was Mountjoy's impression that he was

being trifled with. Once more, he waited for enlightenment, and waited

in silence.

"You don't find my conversation interesting?" Lord Harry remarked,

still with perfect good-humour.

"I fail to see the connection," Mountjoy acknowledged, "between what

you have said so far, and the subject on which you expressed your

intention of speaking to me. Pray forgive me if I appear to hurry

you--or if you have any reasons for hesitation."

Far from being offended, this incomprehensible man really appeared to

be pleased. "You read me like a book!" he exclaimed. "It's hesitation

that's the matter with me. I'm a variable man. If there's something

disagreeable to say, there are times when I dash at it, and times when

I hang back. Can I offer you any refreshment?" he asked, getting away

from the subject again, without so much as an attempt at concealment.

Hugh thanked him, and declined.

"Not even a glass of wine? Such white Burgundy, my dear sir, as you

seldom taste."

Hugh's British obstinacy was roused; he repeated his reply. Lord Harry

looked at him gravely, and made a nearer approach to an open confession

of feeling than he had ventured on yet.

"With regard now to my wife. When I went away this morning with

Vimpany--he's not such good company as he used to be; soured by

misfortune, poor devil; I wish he would go back to London. As I was

saying--I mean as I was about to say--I left you and Lady Harry

together this morning; two old friends, glad (as I supposed) to have a

gossip about old times. When I come back, I find you left here alone,

and I am told that Lady Harry is in her room. What do I see when I get

there? I see the finest pair of eyes in the world; and the tale they

tell me is, We have been crying. When I ask what may have happened to

account for this--'Nothing, dear,' is all the answer I get. What's the

impression naturally produced on my mind? There has been a quarrel

perhaps between you and my wife."