"You mean her husband?"
"I do."
There was no more to be said, Hugh set forth on his journey to Paris.
* * * * * * * On the morning after his arrival in the French capital, Mountjoy had
two alternatives to consider. He might either write to Iris, and ask
when it would be convenient to her to receive him--or he might present
himself unexpectedly in the cottage at Passy. Reflection convinced him
that his best chance of placing an obstacle in the way of deception
would be to adopt the second alternative, and to take Lord Harry and
the doctor by surprise.
He went to Passy. The lively French taste had brightened the cottage
with colour: the fair white window curtains were tied with
rose-coloured ribbons, the blinds were gaily painted, the chimneys were
ornamental, the small garden was a paradise of flowers. When Mountjoy
rang the bell, the gate was opened by Fanny Mere. She looked at him in
grave astonishment.
"Do they expect you?" she asked.
"Never mind that," Hugh answered. "Are they at home?"
"They have just finished breakfast, sir."
"Do you remember my name?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then show me in."
Fanny opened the door of a room on the ground floor, and announced:
"Mr. Mountjoy."
The two men were smoking; Iris was watering some flowers in the window.
Her colour instantly faded when Hugh entered the room. In doubt and
alarm, her eyes questioned Lord Harry. He was in his sweetest state of
good-humour. Urged by the genial impulse of the moment, he set the
example of a cordial reception. "This is an agreeable surprise,
indeed," he said, shaking hands with Mountjoy in his easy amiable way.
"It's kind of you to come and see us." Relieved of anxiety (evidently
when she had not expected it), Iris eagerly followed her husband's
example: her face recovered its colour, and brightened with its
prettiest smile. Mr. Vimpany stood in a corner; his cigar went out: his
own wife would hardly have known him again--he actually presented an
appearance of embarrassment! Lord Harry burst out laughing: "Look at
him Iris! The doctor is shy for the first time in his life." The Irish
good-humour was irresistible. The young wife merrily echoed her
husband's laugh. Mr. Vimpany, observing the friendly reception offered
to Hugh, felt the necessity of adapting himself to circumstances. He
came out of his corner with an apology: "Sorry I misbehaved myself, Mr.
Mountjoy, when I called on you in London. Shake hands. No offence--eh?"
Iris, in feverish high spirits, mimicked the doctor's coarse tones when
he repeated his favourite form of excuse. Lord Harry clapped his hands,
delighted with his wife's clever raillery: "Ha! Mr. Mountjoy, you don't
find that her married life has affected her spirits! May I hope that
you have come here to breakfast? The table is ready as you see"---"And I have been taking lessons, Hugh, in French ways of cooking eggs,"
Iris added; "pray let me show you what I can do." The doctor chimed in
facetiously: "I'm Lady Harry's medical referee; you'll find her French
delicacies half digested for you, sir, before you can open your mouth:
signed, Clarence Vimpany, member of the College of Surgeons."
Remembering Mrs. Vimpany's caution, Hugh concealed his distrust of this
outbreak of hospitable gaiety, and made his excuses. Lord Harry
followed, with more excuses, on his part. He deplored it--but he was
obliged to go out. Had Mr. Mountjoy met with the new paper which was to
beat "Galiguani" out of the field? The "Continental Herald "--there was
the title. "Forty thousand copies of the first number have just flown
all over Europe; we have our agencies in every town of importance, at
every point of the compass; and, one of the great proprietors, my dear
sir, is the humble individual who now addresses you." His bright eyes
sparkled with boyish pleasure, as he made that announcement of his own
importance. If Mr. Mountjoy would kindly excuse him, he had an
appointment at the office that morning. "Get your hat, Vimpany. The
fact is our friend here carries a case of consumption in his pocket;
consumption of the purse, you understand. I am going to enrol him among
the contributors to the newspaper. A series of articles (between
ourselves) exposing the humbug of physicians, and asserting with fine
satirical emphasis the overstocked state of the medical profession. Ah,
well! you'll be glad (won't you?) to talk over old times with Iris. My
angel, show our good friend the 'Continental Herald,' and mind you keep
him here till we get back. Doctor, look alive! Mr. Mountjoy, au
revoir." They shook hands again heartily. As Mrs. Vimpany had
confessed, there was no resisting the Irish lord.