Mr. Vimpany (of the College of Surgeons) was a burly man, heavily built
from head to foot. His bold round eyes looked straight at his
fellow-creatures with an expression of impudent good humour; his
whiskers were bushy, his hands were big, his lips were thick, his legs
were solid. Add to this a broad sunburnt face, and a grey coat with
wide tails, a waistcoat with a check pattern, and leather
riding-gaiters--and no stranger could have failed to mistake Mr.
Vimpany for a farmer of the old school. He was proud of the false
impression that he created. "Nature built me to be a farmer," he used
to say. "But my poor foolish old mother was a lady by birth, and she
insisted on her son being a professional man. I hadn't brains for the
Law, or money for the Army, or morals for the Church. And here I am a
country doctor--the one representative of slavery left in the
nineteenth century. You may not believe me, but I never see a labourer
at the plough that I don't envy him."
This was the husband of the elegant lady with the elaborate manners.
This was the man who received Mountjoy with a "Glad to see you, sir,"
and a shake of the hand that hurt him.
"Coarse fare," said Mr. Vimpany, carving a big joint of beef; "but I
can't afford anything better. Only a pudding to follow, and a glass of
glorious old sherry. Miss Henley is good enough to excuse it--and my
wife's used to it--and you will put up with it, Mr. Mountjoy, if you
are half as amiable as you look. I'm an old-fashioned man. The pleasure
of a glass of wine with you, sir."
Hugh's first experience of the "glorious old sherry" led him to a
discovery, which proved to be more important than he was disposed to
consider it at the moment. He merely observed, with some amusement,
that Mr. Vimpany smacked his lips in hearty approval of the worst
sherry that his guest had ever tasted. Here, plainly self-betrayed, was
a medical man who was an exception to a general rule in the
profession--here was a doctor ignorant of the difference between good
wine and bad!
Both the ladies were anxious to know how Mountjoy had passed the night
at the inn. He had only time to say that there was nothing to complain
of, when Mr. Vimpany burst into an explosion of laughter.
"Oh, but you must have had something to complain of!" said the big
doctor. "I would bet a hundred, if I could afford it, that the landlady
tried to poison you with her sour French wine."