Tempted by the prospect of a change, which offered to him a bed-chamber
of his own in the house of a person of distinction--with a garden to
walk about in, and flowers to gladden his eyes, when he got
better--Oxbye eagerly adopted the alternative of leaving the hospital.
"Pray let me go," the poor fellow said: "I am sure I shall be the
better for it." Without opposing this decision, the responsible
directors reminded him that it had been adopted on impulse, and decided
that it was their duty to give him a little time for consideration.
In the meanwhile, some of the gentlemen assembled at the bedside,
looking at Oxbye and then looking at Lord Harry, had observed a certain
accidental likeness between the patient and "Milord, the
philanthropist," who was willing to receive him. The restraints of
politeness had only permitted them to speak of this curious discovery
among themselves. At the later time, however, when the gentlemen had
taken leave of each other, Mr. Vimpany--finding himself alone with Lord
Harry--had no hesitation in introducing the subject, on which delicacy
had prevented the Frenchmen from entering.
"Did you look at the Dane?" he began abruptly.
"Of course I did!"
"And you noticed the likeness?"
"Not I!"
The doctor's uproarious laughter startled the people who were walking
near them in the street. "Here's another proof," he burst out, "of the
true saying that no man knows himself. You don't deny the likeness, I
suppose?"
"Do you yourself see it?" Lord Harry asked.
Mr. Vimpany answered the question scornfully: "Is it likely that I
should have submitted to all the trouble I have taken to get possession
of that man, if I had not seen a likeness between his face and yours?"
The Irish lord said no more. When his friend asked why he was silent,
he gave his reason sharply enough: "I don't like the subject."