Blind Love

"My memory as a playgoer doesn't extend over many years," he began;

"but I can appreciate the historical interest of your beautiful

prints." Mrs. Vimpany bowed gracefully--and dumbly. Mountjoy tried

again. "One doesn't often see the famous actresses of past days," he

proceeded, "so well represented on the walls of an English house."

This time, he had spoken to better purpose. Mrs. Vimpany answered him

in words.

"I have many pleasant associations with the theatre," she said, "first

formed in the time of my girlhood."

Mountjoy waited to hear something more. Nothing more was said. Perhaps

this reticent lady disliked looking back through a long interval of

years, or perhaps she had her reasons for leaving Mountjoy's guess at

the truth still lost in doubt. In either case, she deliberately dropped

the subject. Iris took it up. Sitting by the only table in the room,

she was in a position which placed her exactly opposite to one of the

prints--the magnificent portrait of Mrs. Siddons as The Tragic Muse.

"I wonder if Mrs. Siddons was really as beautiful as that?" she said,

pointing to the print. "Sir Joshua Reynolds is reported to have

sometimes flattered his sitters."

Mrs. Vimpany's solemn self-possessed eyes suddenly brightened; the name

of the great actress seemed to interest her. On the point, apparently,

of speaking, she dropped the subject of Mrs. Siddons as she had dropped

the subject of the theatre. Mountjoy was left to answer Iris.

"We are none of us old enough," he reminded her, "to decide whether Sir

Joshua's brush has been guilty of flattery or not." He turned to Mrs.

Vimpany, and attempted to look into her life from a new point of view.

"When Miss Henley was so fortunate as to make your acquaintance," he

said, "you were travelling in Ireland. Was it your first visit to that

unhappy country?"

"I have been more than once in Ireland."

Having again deliberately disappointed Mountjoy, she was assisted in

keeping clear of the subject of Ireland by a fortunate interruption. It

was the hour of delivery by the afternoon-post. The servant came in

with a small sealed packet, and a slip of printed paper in her hand.

"It's registered, ma'am," the woman announced. "The postman says you

are to please sign this. And he seems to be in a hurry."

She placed the packet and the slip of paper on the table, near the

inkstand. Having signed the receipt, Mrs. Vimpany took up the packet,

and examined the address. She instantly looked at Iris, and looked away

again. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" saying this she left the

room, without opening the packet.