Lord Harry knew the people whom he had to deal with, and took measures
to approach the house silently, on foot. The coachman received orders
to look out for a signal, which should tell him when he was wanted
again.
Mr. Vimpany's ears, vigilantly on the watch for suspicious events,
detected no sound of carriage wheels and no noisy use of the knocker.
Still on his guard, however, a ring at the house-bell disturbed him in
his consulting-room. Peeping into the hall, he saw Iris opening the
door, and stole back to his room. "The devil take her!" he said,
alluding to Miss Henley, and thinking of the enviable proprietor of the
diamond pin.
At the unexpected appearance of Iris, Lord Harry forgot every
consideration which ought to have been present to his mind, at that
critical moment.
He advanced to her with both hands held out in cordial greeting. She
signed to him contemptuously to stand back--and spoke in tones
cautiously lowered, after a glance at the door of the consulting-room.
"My only reason for consenting to see you," she said, "is to protect
myself from further deception. Your disgraceful conduct is known to me.
Go now," she continued, pointing to the stairs, "and consult with your
spy, as soon as you like." The Irish lord listened--guiltily conscious
of having deserved what she had said to him--without attempting to
utter a word in excuse.
Still posted at the head of the stairs, the doctor's wife heard Iris
speaking; but the tone was not loud enough to make the words
intelligible at that distance; neither was any other voice audible in
reply. Vaguely suspicions of some act of domestic treachery, Mrs.
Vimpany began to descend the stairs. At the turning which gave her a
view of the hall, she stopped; thunderstruck by the discovery of Lord
Harry and Miss Henley, together.
The presence of a third person seemed, in some degree, to relieve Lord
Harry. He ran upstairs to salute Mrs. Vimpany, and was met again by a
cold reception and a hostile look.
Strongly and strangely contrasted, the two confronted each other on the
stairs. The faded woman, wan and ghastly under cruel stress of mental
suffering, stood face to face with a fine, tall, lithe man, in the
prime of his health and strength. Here were the bright blue eyes, the
winning smile, and the natural grace of movement, which find their own
way to favour in the estimation of the gentler sex. This irreclaimable
wanderer among the perilous by-ways of the earth--christened "Irish
blackguard," among respectable members of society, when they spoke of
him behind his back--attracted attention, even among the men. Looking
at his daring, finely-formed face, they noticed (as an exception to a
general rule, in these days) the total suppression, by the razor, of
whiskers, moustache, and beard. Strangers wondered whether Lord Harry
was an actor or a Roman Catholic priest. Among chance acquaintances,
those few favourites of Nature who are possessed of active brains,
guessed that his life of adventure might well have rendered disguise
necessary to his safety, in more than one part of the world. Sometimes
they boldly put the question to him. The hot temper of an Irishman, in
moments of excitement, is not infrequently a sweet temper in moments of
calm. What they called Lord Harry's good-nature owned readily that he
had been indebted, on certain occasions, to the protection of a false
beard, And perhaps a colouring of his face and hair to match. The same
easy disposition now asserted itself, under the merciless enmity of
Mrs. Vimpany's eyes. "If I have done anything to offend you," he said,
with an air of puzzled humility, "I'm sure I am sorry for it. Don't be
angry, Arabella, with an old friend. Why won't you shake hands?"