Blind Love

Mr. Vimpany returned from his medical errand, thoroughly well satisfied

with himself.

"The Mayor's mother has reason to thank you, sir," he announced. "If

you hadn't hurried me away, the wretched old creature would have been

choked. A regular stand-up fight, by Jupiter, between death and the

doctor!--and the doctor has won! Give me the reward of merit. Pass the

bottle."

He took up the decanter, and looked at it.

"Why, what have you been about?" he asked. "I made up my mind that I

should want the key of the cellar when I came back, and I don't believe

you have drunk a drop in my absence. What does it mean?"

"It means that I am not worthy of your sherry," Mountjoy answered. "The

Spanish wines are too strong for my weak digestion."

Mr. Vimpany burst into one of his explosions of laughter. "You miss the

landlady's vinegar--eh?"

"Yes, I do! Wait a minute, doctor; I have a word to say on my

side--and, like you, I mean what I say. The landlady's vinegar is some

of the finest Chateau Margaux I have ever met with--thrown away on

ignorant people who are quite unworthy of it."

The doctor's natural insolence showed itself. "You have bought this

wonderful wine, of course?" he said satirically.

"That," Mountjoy answered, "is just what I have done."

For once in his life, Mr. Vimpany's self-sufficient readiness of speech

failed him. He stared at his guest in dumb amazement. On this occasion,

Mountjoy improved the opportunity to good purpose. Mr. Vimpany accepted

with the utmost readiness an invitation to dine on the next day at the

inn. But he made a condition. "In case I don't agree with you about

that Chateau--what-you-call-it," he said, "you won't mind my sending

home for a bottle of sherry?"

The next event of the day was a visit to the most interesting monument

of antiquity in the town. In the absence of the doctor, caused by

professional engagements, Miss Henley took Mountjoy to see the old

church--and Mrs. Vimpany accompanied them, as a mark of respect to Miss

Henley's friend.

When there was a chance of being able to speak confidentially, Iris was

eager in praising the doctor's wife. "You can't imagine, Hugh, how

agreeable she has been, and how entirely she has convinced me that I

was wrong, shamefully wrong, in thinking of her as I did. She sees that

you dislike her, and yet she speaks so nicely of you. 'Your clever

friend enjoys your society,' she said; 'pray accompany me when I take

him to see the church.' How unselfish!"