The Irish lord had a word to say to his wife, before he submitted to
her the letter which he had just written.
He had been summoned to a meeting of proprietors at the office of the
newspaper, convened to settle the terms of a new subscription rendered
necessary by unforeseen expenses incurred in the interests of the
speculation. The vote that followed, after careful preliminary
consultation, authorised a claim on the purses of subscribing
proprietors, which sadly reduced the sum obtained by Lord Harry's
promissory note. Nor was this inconvenience the only trial of endurance
to which the Irish lord was compelled to submit. The hope which he had
entertained of assistance from the profits of the new journal, when
repayment of the loan that he had raised became due, was now plainly
revealed as a delusion. Ruin stared him in the face, unless he could
command the means of waiting for the pecuniary success of the
newspaper, during an interval variously estimated at six months, or
even at a year to come.
"Our case is desperate enough," he said, "to call for a desperate
remedy. Keep up your spirits, Iris--I have written to my brother."
Iris looked at him in dismay.
"Surely," she said, "you once told me you had written to your brother,
and he answered you in the cruellest manner through his lawyers."
"Quite true, my dear. But, this time, there is one circumstance in our
favour--my brother is going to be married. The lady is said to be an
heiress; a charming creature, admired and beloved wherever she goes.
There must surely be something to soften the hardest heart in that
happy prospect. Read what I have written, and tell me what you think of
it."
The opinion of the devoted wife encouraged the desperate husband: the
letter was dispatched by the post of that day.
If boisterous good spirits can make a man agreeable at the
dinner-table, then indeed Mr. Vimpany, on his return to the cottage,
played the part of a welcome guest. He was inexhaustible in gallant
attentions to his friend's wife; he told his most amusing stories in
his happiest way; he gaily drank his host's fine white Burgundy, and
praised with thorough knowledge of the subject the succulent French
dishes; he tried Lord Harry with talk on politics, talk on sport, and
(wonderful to relate in these days) talk on literature. The preoccupied
Irishman was equally inaccessible on all three subjects. When the
dessert was placed on the table--still bent on making himself agreeable
to Lady Harry--Mr. Vimpany led the conversation to the subject of
floriculture. In the interests of her ladyship's pretty little garden,
he advocated a complete change in the system of cultivation, and
justified his revolutionary views by misquoting the published work of a
great authority on gardening with such polite obstinacy that Iris
(eager to confute him) went away to fetch the book. The moment he had
entrapped her into leaving the room, the doctor turned to Lord Harry
with a sudden change to the imperative mood in look and manner.