From the last memorable day, on which Iris had declared to him that he
might always count on her as his friend, but never as his wife, Hugh
had resolved to subject his feelings to a rigorous control. As to
conquering his hopeless love, he knew but too well that it would
conquer him, on any future occasion when he and Iris happened to meet.
He had been true to his resolution, at what cost of suffering he, and
he alone knew. Sincerely, unaffectedly, he had tried to remain her
friend. But the nature of the truest and the firmest man has its weak
place, where the subtle influence of a woman is concerned. Deeply
latent, beyond the reach of his own power of sounding, there was
jealousy of the Irish lord lurking in Mountjoy, and secretly leading
his mind when he hesitated in those emergencies of his life which were
connected with Iris. Ignorant of the influence which was really
directing him, he viewed with contempt Mr. Henley's suspicions of a
secret understanding between his daughter and the man who was, by her
own acknowledgment, unworthy of the love with which it had been her
misfortune to regard him. At the same time, Hugh's mind was reluctantly
in search of an explanation, which might account (without degrading
Iris) for her having been traced to the doctor's house. In his
recollection of events at the old country town, he found a motive for
her renewal of intercourse with such a man as Mr. Vimpany, in the
compassionate feeling with which she regarded the doctor's unhappy
wife. There might well be some humiliating circumstance, recently added
to the other trials of Mrs. Vimpany's married life, which had appealed
to all that was generous and forgiving in the nature of Iris. Knowing
nothing of the resolution to live apart which had latterly separated
the doctor and his wife, Mountjoy decided on putting his idea to the
test by applying for information to Mrs. Vimpany at her husband's
house.
In the nature of a sensitive man the bare idea of delay, under these
circumstances, was unendurable. Hugh called the first cab that passed
him, and drove to Hampstead.
Careful--morbidly careful, perhaps--not to attract attention needlessly
to himself, he stopped the cab at the entrance to Redburn Road, and
approached Number Five on foot. A servant-girl answered the door.
Mountjoy asked if Mrs. Vimpany was at home.
The girl made no immediate reply. She seemed to be puzzled by
Mountjoy's simple question. Her familiar manner, with its vulgar
assumption of equality in the presence of a stranger, revealed the
London-bred maid-servant of modern times. "Did you say Mrs. Vimpany?"
she inquired sharply.