"I don't understand the subject," Mountjoy replied. "May I ask why you
take me into your confidence?"
"Because I look upon you as my best friend."
"You are very good. But surely, Mr. Vimpany, you have older friends in
your circle of acquaintance than I am."
"Not one," the doctor answered promptly, "whom I trust as I trust you.
Let me give you a proof of it."
"Is the proof in any way connected with money?" Hugh inquired.
"I call that hard on me," Mr. Vimpany protested. "No unfriendly
interruptions, Mountjoy! I offer a proof of kindly feeling. Do you mean
to hurt me?"
"Certainly not. Go on."
"Thank you; a little encouragement goes a long way with me. I have
found a bookseller, who will publish my contemplated work, on
commission. Not a soul has yet seen the estimate of expenses. I propose
to show it to You."
"Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany."
"Why quite needless?"
"Because I decline lending you the money."
"No, no, Mountjoy! You can't really mean that?"
"I do mean it."
"No!"
"Yes!"
The doctor's face showed a sudden change of expression---a sinister and
threatening change. "Don't drive me into a corner," he said. "Think of
it again."
Hugh's capacity for controlling himself gave way at last.
"Do you presume to threaten me?" he said. "Understand, if you please,
that my mind is made up, and that nothing you can say or do will alter
it."
With that declaration he rose from his chair, and waited for Mr.
Vimpany's departure.
The doctor put on his hat. His eyes rested on Hugh, with a look of
diabolical malice: "The time is not far off, Mr. Mountjoy, when you may
be sorry you refused me." He said those words deliberately--and took
his leave.
Released from the man's presence, Hugh found himself strangely
associating the interests of Iris with the language--otherwise beneath
notice--which Mr. Vimpany had used on leaving the room.
In desperate straits for want of money, how would the audacious
bankrupt next attempt to fill his empty purse? If he had, by any
chance, renewed his relations with his Irish friend--and such an event
was at least possible--his next experiment in the art of raising a loan
might take him to Paris. Lord Harry had already ventured on a
speculation which called for an immediate outlay of money, and which
was only expected to put a profit into his pocket at some future
period. In the meanwhile, his resources in money had their limits; and
his current expenses would make imperative demands on an ill-filled
purse. If the temptation to fail in his resolution to respect his
wife's fortune was already trying his fortitude, what better excuse
could be offered for yielding than the necessities of an old friend in
a state of pecuniary distress?