Blind Love

"Why do you hesitate to confide in me?" she asked. "Dear Harry, do you

think I don't see that something troubles you?"

"Yes," he said, "there is something that I regret."

"What is it?"

"Iris," he answered, "I am sorry I asked Vimpany to come back to us."

At that unexpected confession, a bright flush of joy and pride

overspread his wife's face. Again, the unerring instinct of love guided

her to discovery of the truth. The opinion of his wicked friend must

have been accidentally justified, at the secret interview of that day,

by the friend himself! In tempting her husband, Vimpany had said

something which must have shocked and offended him. The result, as she

could hardly doubt, had been the restoration of her domestic influence

to its helpful freedom of control--whether for the time only it was not

in her nature, at that moment of happiness, to inquire. "After what you

have just told me," she ventured to say, "I may own that I am glad to

see you come home, alone."

In that indirect manner, she confessed the hope that friendly

intercourse between the two men had come to an end. His reply

disappointed her.

"Vimpany only remains in Paris," he said, "to present a letter of

introduction. He will follow me home."

"Soon?" she asked, piteously.

"In time for dinner, I suppose." She was still sitting on his knee. His

arm pressed her gently when he said his next words, "I hope you will

dine with us to-day, Iris?"

"Yes--if you wish it."

"I wish it very much. Something in me recoils from being alone with

Vimpany. Besides, a dinner at home without you is no dinner at all."

She thanked him for that little compliment by a look. At the same time,

her grateful sense of her husband's kindness was embittered by the

prospect of the doctor's return. "Is he likely to dine with us often,

now?" she was bold enough to say.

"I hope not."

Perhaps he was conscious that he might have made a more positive reply.

He certainly took refuge in another subject--more agreeable to himself.

"My dear, you have expressed the wish to relieve my anxieties," he

said; "and you can help me, I think, in that way. I have a letter to

write--of some importance, Iris, to your interests as well as to

mine--which must go to Ireland by to-day's post. You shall read it, and

say if you approve of what I have done. Don't let me be disturbed. This

letter, I can tell you, will make a hard demand on my poor brains--I

must go and write in my own room."