Blind Love

He produced a handful of his cards, and laid them out in a neat little

semicircle on the table.

"A word of recommendation, when you have the chance, would be a

friendly act on your part," he explained. "Capital air in Redburn Road,

and a fine view of the Heath out of the garret windows--but it's rather

an out-of-the-way situation. Not that I complain; beggars mustn't be

choosers. I should have preferred a practice in a fashionable part of

London; but our little windfall of money--"

He came to a full stop in the middle of a sentence. The sale of the

superb diamond pin, by means of which Lord Harry had repaid Mrs.

Vimpany's services, was, of all domestic events, the last which it

might be wise to mention in the presence of Miss Henley. He was

awkwardly silent. Taking advantage of that circumstance, Iris

introduced the subject in which she felt interested.

"How is Mrs. Vimpany?" she asked.

"Oh, she's all right!"

"Does she like your new house?"

The doctor made a strange reply. "I really can't tell you," he said.

"Do you mean that Mrs. Vimpany declines to express an opinion?"

He laughed. "In all my experience," he said, "I never met with a woman

who did that! No, no; the fact is, my wife and I have parted company.

There's no need to look so serious about it! Incompatibility of temper,

as the saying is, has led us to a friendly separation. Equally a relief

on both sides. She goes her way, I go mine."

His tone disgusted Iris--and she let him see it. "Is it of any use to

ask you for Mrs. Vimpany's address?" she inquired.

His atrocious good-humour kept its balance as steadily as ever: "Sorry

to disappoint you. Mrs. Vimpany hasn't given me her address. Curious,

isn't it? The fact is, she moped a good deal, after you left us; talked

of her duty, and the care of her soul, and that sort of thing. When I

hear where she is, I'll let you know with pleasure. To the best of my

belief, she's doing nurse's work somewhere."

"Nurse's work? What do you mean?"

"Oh, the right thing--all in the fashion. She belongs to what they call

a Sisterhood; goes about, you know, in a shabby black gown, with a poke

bonnet. At least, so Lord Harry told me the other day."

In spite of herself, Iris betrayed the agitation which those words

instantly roused in her. "Lord Harry!" she exclaimed. "Where is he? In

London?"