The doctor arrived in good time for dinner, and shook hands with the
Irish lord in excellent spirits.
He looked round the room, and asked where my lady was. Lord Harry's
reply suggested the presence of a cloud on the domestic horizon. He had
been taking a long ride, and had only returned a few minutes since;
Iris would (as he supposed) join them immediately.
The maid put the soup on the table, and delivered a message. Her
mistress was suffering from a headache, and was not well enough to dine
with the gentlemen.
As an old married man, Mr. Vimpany knew what this meant; he begged
leave to send a comforting message to the suffering lady of the house.
Would Fanny be good enough to say that he had made inquiries on the
subject of Mr. Mountjoy's health, before he left London. The report was
still favourable; there was nothing to complain of but the
after-weakness which had followed the fever. On that account only, the
attendance of the nurse was still a matter of necessity. "With my
respects to Lady Harry," he called after Fanny, as she went out in
dogged silence.
"I have begun by making myself agreeable to your wife," the doctor
remarked with a self-approving grin. "Perhaps she will dine with us
to-morrow. Pass the sherry."
The remembrance of what had happened at the breakfast-table, that
morning, seemed to be dwelling disagreeably on Lord Harry's mind. He
said but little--and that little related to the subject on which he had
already written, at full length, to his medical friend.
In an interval, when the service of the table required the attendance
of Fanny in the kitchen, Mr. Vimpany took the opportunity of saying a
few cheering words. He had come (he remarked) prepared with the right
sort of remedy for an ailing state of mind, and he would explain
himself at a fitter opportunity. Lord Harry impatiently asked why the
explanation was deferred. If the presence of the maid was the obstacle
which caused delay, it would be easy to tell her that she was not
wanted to wait.
The wary doctor positively forbade this.
He had observed Fanny, during his previous visit, and had discovered
that she seemed to distrust him. The woman was sly and suspicious.
Since they had sat down to dinner, it was easy to see that she was
lingering in the room to listen to the conversation, on one pretence or
another. If she was told not to wait, there could be no doubt of her
next proceeding: she would listen outside the door. "Take my word for
it," the doctor concluded, "there are all the materials for a spy in
Fanny Mere."