Blind Love

Mountjoy had his reasons for wishing to see the husband. As he accepted

the invitation, Miss Henley returned to accompany him to the inn.

Iris put the inevitable question to Hugh as soon as they were out of

the doctor's house--"What do you say of Mrs. Vimpany now?"

"I say that she must have been once an actress," Mountjoy answered;

"and that she carries her experience of the stage into private life."

"What do you propose to do next?"

"I propose to wait, and see Mrs. Vimpany's husband to-morrow."

"Why?"

"Mrs. Vimpany, my dear, is too clever for me. If--observe, please, that

I do her the justice of putting it in that way--if she is really Lord

Harry's creature, employed to keep watch on you, and to inform him of

your next place of residence in England, I own that she has completely

deceived me. In that case, it is just possible that the husband is not

such a finished and perfect humbug as the wife. I may be able to see

through him. I can but try."

Iris sighed. "I almost hope you may not succeed," she said.

Mountjoy was puzzled, and made no attempt to conceal it. "I thought you

only wanted to get at the truth," he answered.

"My mind might be easier, perhaps, if I was left in doubt," she

suggested. "A perverse way of thinking has set up my poor opinion

against yours. But I am getting back to my better sense. I believe you

were entirely right when you tried to prevent me from rushing to

conclusions; it is more than likely that I have done Mrs. Vimpany an

injustice. Oh, Hugh, I ought to keep a friend--I who have so few

friends--when I have got one! And there is another feeling in me which

I must not conceal from you. When I remember Lord Harry's noble conduct

in trying to save poor Arthur, I cannot believe him capable of such

hateful deceit as consenting to our separation, and then having me

secretly watched by a spy. What monstrous inconsistency! Can anybody

believe it? Can anybody account for it?"

"I think I can account for it, Iris, if you will let me make the

attempt. You are mistaken to begin with."

"How am I mistaken?"

"You shall see. There is no such creature as a perfectly consistent

human being on the face of the earth--and, strange as it may seem to

you, the human beings themselves are not aware of it. The reason for

this curious state of things is not far to seek. How can people who are

ignorant--as we see every day--of their own characters be capable of

correctly estimating the characters of others? Even the influence of

their religion fails to open their eyes to the truth. In the Prayer

which is the most precious possession of Christendom, their lips repeat

the entreaty that they may not be led into temptation--but their minds

fail to draw the inference. If that pathetic petition means anything,

it means that virtuous men and women are capable of becoming vicious

men and women, if a powerful temptation puts them to the test. Every

Sunday, devout members of the congregation in church--models of

excellence in their own estimation, and in the estimation of their

neighbours--declare that they have done those things which they ought

not to have done, and that there is no health in them. Will you believe

that they are encouraged by their Prayer-books to present this sad

exposure of the frailty of their own admirable characters? How

inconsistent--and yet how entirely true! Lord Harry, as you rightly

say, behaved nobly in trying to save my dear lost brother. He ought, as

you think, and as other people think, to be consistently noble, after

that, in all his thoughts and actions, to the end of his life. Suppose

that temptation does try him--such temptation, Iris, as you innocently

present--why doesn't he offer a superhuman resistance? You might as

well ask, Why is he a mortal man? How inconsistent, how improbable,

that he should have tendencies to evil in him, as well as tendencies to

good! Ah, I see you don't like this. It would be infinitely more

agreeable (wouldn't it?) if Lord Harry was one of the entirely

consistent characters which are sometimes presented in works of

fiction. Our good English readers are charmed with the man, the woman,

or the child, who is introduced to them by the kind novelist as a being

without faults. Do they stop to consider whether this is a true picture

of humanity? It would be a terrible day for the book if they ever did

that. But the book is in no danger. The readers would even fail to

discover the falseness of the picture, if they were presented to

themselves as perfect characters. 'We mustn't say so, but how

wonderfully like us!' There would be the only impression produced. I am

not trying to dishearten you; I want to encourage you to look at

humanity from a wider and truer point of view. Do not be too readily

depressed, if you find your faith shaken in a person whom you have

hitherto believed to be good. That person has been led into temptation.

Wait till time shows you that the evil influence is not everlasting,

and that the good influence will inconsistently renew your faith out of

the very depths of your despair. Humanity, in general, is neither

perfectly good nor perfectly wicked: take it as you find it. Is this a

hard lesson to learn? Well! it's easy to do what other people do, under

similar circumstances. Listen to the unwelcome truth to-day, my dear;

and forget it to-morrow."