THERE was no unsteadiness in the doctor’s walk, and no flush on his face. He certainly did strut when he entered the room; and he held up his head with dignity, when he discovered Mountjoy. But he seemed to preserve his self-control. Was the man sober again already?

His wife approached him with her set smile; the appearance of her lord and master filled Mrs. Vimpany with perfectly-assumed emotions of agreeable surprise.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” she said. “You seldom favour us with your company, my dear, so early in the evening! Are there fewer patients in want of your advice than usual?”

“You are mistaken, Arabella. I am here in the performance of a painful duty.”

The doctor’s language, and the doctor’s manner, presented him to Iris in a character that was new to her. What effect had he produced on Mrs. Vimpany? That excellent friend to travellers in distress lowered her eyes to the floor, and modestly preserved silence. Mr. Vimpany proceeded to the performance of his duty; his painful responsibility seemed to strike him at first from a medical point of view.

“If there is a poison which undermines the sources of life,” he remarked, “it is alcohol. If there is a vice that degrades humanity, it is intoxication. Mr. Mountjoy, are you aware that I am looking at you?”

“Impossible not to be aware of that,” Hugh answered. “May I ask why you are looking at me?” It was not easy to listen gravely to Mr. Vimpany’s denunciation of intemperance, after what had taken place at the dinner of that day. Hugh smiled. The moral majesty of the doctor entered its protest.

“This is really shameful,” he said. “The least you can do is to take it seriously.”

“What is it?” Mountjoy asked. “And why am I to take it seriously?”

Mr. Vimpany’s reply was, to say the least of it, indirect. If such an expression may be permitted, it smelt of the stage. Viewed in connection with Mrs. Vimpany’s persistent assumption of silent humility, it suggested to Mountjoy a secret understanding, of some kind, between husband and wife.

“What has become of your conscience, sir?” Mr. Vimpany demanded. “Is that silent monitor dead within you? After giving me a bad dinner, do you demand an explanation? Ha! you shall have it.”

Having delivered himself to this effect, he added action to words. Walking grandly to the door, he threw it open, and saluted Mountjoy with an ironical bow. Iris observed that act of insolence; her colour rose, her eyes glittered. “Do you see what he has just done?” she said to Mrs. Vimpany.

The doctor’s wife answered softly: “I don’t understand it.” After a glance at her husband, she took Iris by the hand: “Dear Miss Henley, shall we retire to my room?”

Iris drew her hand away. “Not unless Mr. Mountjoy wishes it,” she said.

“Certainly not!” Hugh declared. “Pray remain here; your presence will help me to keep my temper.” He stepped up to Mr. Vimpany. “Have you any particular reason for opening that door?” he asked.

The doctor was a rascal; but, to do him justice, he was no coward. “Yes,” he said, “I have a reason.”

“What is it, if you please?”

“Christian forbearance,” Mr. Vimpany answered.

“Forbearance towards me?” Mountjoy continued.

The doctor’s dignity suddenly deserted him.

“Aha, my boy, you have got it at last!” he cried. “It’s pleasant to understand each other, isn’t it? You see, I’m a plain-spoken fellow; I don’t wish to give offence. If there’s one thing more than another I pride myself on, it’s my indulgence for human frailty. But, in my position here, I’m obliged to be careful. Upon my soul, I can’t continue my acquaintance with a man who — oh, come! come! don’t look as if you didn’t understand me. The circumstances are against you, sir. You have treated me infamously.”

“Under what circumstances have I treated you infamously?” Hugh asked.

“Under pretence of giving me a dinner,” Mr. Vimpany shouted —“the worst dinner I ever sat down to!”

His wife signed to him to be silent. He took no notice of her. She insisted on being understood. “Say no more!” she warned him, in a tone of command.

The brute side of his nature, roused by Mountjoy’s contemptuous composure, was forcing its way outwards; he set his wife at defiance.

“Then don’t let him look at me as if he thought I was in a state of intoxication!” cried the furious doctor. “There’s the man, Miss, who tried to make me tipsy,” he went on, actually addressing himself to Iris. “Thanks to my habits of sobriety, he has been caught in his own trap. He’s intoxicated. Ha, friend Mountjoy, have you got the right explanation at last? There’s the door, sir!”

Mrs............