Blind Love

"What would you have done," Mountjoy inquired, "if Rhoda had been

strong enough to get to the end of the journey?"

"I should have gone on to London, and taken refuge in a lodging--you

were in town, as I believed, and my father might relent in time. As it

was, I felt my lonely position keenly. To meet with kind people, like

Mr. Vimpany and his wife, was a real blessing to such a friendless

creature as I am--to say nothing of the advantage to Rhoda, who is

getting better every day. I should like you to see Mrs. Vimpany, if she

is at home. She is a little formal and old fashioned in her manner--but

I am sure you will be pleased with her. Ah! you look round the room!

They are poor, miserably poor for persons in their position, these

worthy friends of mine. I have had the greatest difficulty in

persuading them to let me contribute my share towards the household

expenses. They only yielded when I threatened to go to the inn. You are

looking very serious, Hugh. Is it possible that you see some objection

to my staying in this house?"

The drawing-room door was softly opened, at the moment when Iris put

that question. A lady appeared on the threshold. Seeing the stranger,

she turned to Iris.

"I didn't know, dear Miss Henley, that you had a visitor. Pray pardon

my intrusion."

The voice was deep; the articulation was clear; the smile presented a

certain modest dignity which gave it a value of its own. This was a

woman who could make such a commonplace thing as an apology worth

listening to. Iris stopped her as she was about to leave the room. "I

was just wishing for you," she said. "Let me introduce my old friend,

Mr. Mountjoy. Hugh, this is the lady who has been so kind to me--Mrs.

Vimpany."

Hugh's impulse, under the circumstances, was to dispense with the

formality of a bow, and to shake hands. Mrs. Vimpany met this friendly

advance with a suavity of action, not often seen in these days of

movement without ceremony. She was a tall slim woman, of a certain age.

Art had so cleverly improved her complexion that it almost looked like

nature. Her cheeks had lost the plumpness of youth, but her hair

(thanks again perhaps to Art) showed no signs of turning grey. The

expression of her large dark eyes--placed perhaps a little too near her

high aquiline nose--claimed admiration from any person who was so

fortunate as to come within their range of view. Her hands, long,

yellow, and pitiably thin, were used with a grace which checked to some

extent their cruel betrayal of her age. Her dress had seen better days,

but it was worn with an air which forbade it to look actually shabby.

The faded lace that encircled her neck fell in scanty folds over her

bosom. She sank into a chair by Hugh's side. "It was a great pleasure

to me, Mr. Mountjoy, to offer my poor services to Miss Henley; I can't

tell you how happy her presence makes me in our little house." The

compliment was addressed to Iris with every advantage that smiles and

tones could offer. Oddly artificial as it undoubtedly was, Mrs.

Vimpany's manner produced nevertheless an agreeable impression.

Disposed to doubt her at first, Mountjoy found that she was winning her

way to a favourable change in his opinion. She so far interested him,

that he began to wonder what her early life might have been, when she

was young and handsome. He looked again at the portraits of actresses

on the walls, and the plays on the bookshelf--and then (when she was

speaking to Iris) he stole a sly glance at the doctor's wife. Was it

possible that this remarkable woman had once been an actress? He

attempted to put the value of that guess to the test by means of a

complimentary allusion to the prints.