Blind Love

While he was still struggling with his own reluctance to inflict this

degrading exposure on a woman, the talk between the two ladies came to

an end. Mrs. Vimpany returned again to the window. On this occasion,

she looked out into the street--with her handkerchief (was it used as a

signal?) exhibited in her hand. Iris, on her side, advanced to

Mountjoy. Easily moved to anger, her nature was incapable of sullen

perseverance in a state of enmity. To see Hugh still patiently

waiting--still risking the chances of insult--devoted to her, and

forgiving her--was at once a reproach that punished Iris, and a mute

appeal that no true woman's heart could resist.

With tears in her eyes she said to him: "There must be no coolness

between you and me. I lost my temper, and spoke shamefully to you. My

dear, I am indeed sorry for it. You are never hard on me--you won't be

hard on me now?"

She offered her hand to him. He had just raised it to his lips--when

the drawing-room door was roughly opened. They both looked round.

The man of all others whom Hugh least desired to see was the man who

now entered the room. The victim of "light claret"--privately directed

to lurk in the street, until he saw a handkerchief fluttering at the

window--had returned to the house; primed with his clever wife's

instructions; ready and eager to be even with Mountjoy for the dinner

at the inn.