Blind Love

"Must I give up all, Miss Henley, that I most value?" she asked.

"I hardly understand you, Mrs. Vimpany."

"I will try to make it plainer. Do you really mean to leave me this

evening?"

"I do."

"May I own that I am grieved to hear it? Your departure will deprive me

of some happy hours, in your company."

"Your husband's conduct leaves me no alternative," Iris replied.

"Pray do not humiliate me by speaking of my husband! I only want to

know if there is a harder trial of my fortitude still to come. Must I

lose the privilege of being your friend?"

"I hope I am not capable of such injustice as that," Iris declared. "It

would be hard indeed to lay the blame of Mr. Vimpany's shameful

behaviour on you. I don't forget that you made him offer an apology.

Some women, married to such a man as that, might have been afraid of

him. No, no; you have been a good friend to me--and I mean to remember

it."

Mrs. Vimpany's gratitude was too sincerely felt to be expressed with

her customary readiness. She only said what the stupidest woman in

existence could have said: "Thank you."

In the silence that followed, the rapid movement of carriage wheels

became audible in the street. The sound stopped at the door of the

doctor's house.