"Ah, well--I have said more than enough of my last night's amusement," he confessed. "It's your turn now, my dear. Have you had a look at the poor fellow whom the doctor is going to cure?" he asked abruptly; eager to discover whether she had noticed the likeness between Oxbye and himself. Her eyes rested on him attentively. "I have not yet seen the person you allude to," she answered. "Is Mr. Vimpany hopeful of his recovery?" He took out his case, and busied himself in choosing a cigar. In the course of his adventurous life, he had gained some knowledge of the effect of his own impetuous temper on others, and of difficulties which he had experienced when circumstances rendered it necessary to keep his face in a state of discipline. "Oh, there's no reason for anxiety!" he said, with an over-acted interest in examining his cigar. "Mr. Oxbye is in good hands." "People do sometimes sink under an illness," she quietly remarked. Without making any reply he took out his matchbox. His hand trembled a little; he failed at the first attempt to strike a light. "And doctors sometimes make mistakes," Iris went on. He was still silent. At the second attempt, he succeeded with the match, and lit his cigar. "Suppose Mr. Vimpany made a mistake," she persisted. "In the case of this stranger, it might lead to deplorable results." Lord Harry lost his temper, and with it his colour. "What the devil do you mean?" he cried. "I might ask, in my turn," she said, "what have I done to provoke an outbreak of temper? I only made a remark." At that critical moment, Fanny Mere entered the room with a telegram in her hand. "For you, my lady." Iris opened the telegram. The message was signed by Mrs. Vimpany, and was expressed in these words: "You may feel it your duty to go to your father. He is dangerously ill." Lord Harry saw a sudden change in his wife's face that roused his guilty suspicions. "Is it anything about me?" he asked. Iris handed the telegram to him in silence. Having looked at it, he desired to hear what her wishes were. "The telegram expresses my wishes," she said. "Have you any objection to my leaving you?" "None whatever," he answered eagerly. "Go, by all means." If it had still been possible for her to hesitate, that reply would have put an end to all further doubt. She turned away to leave the room. He followed her to the door. "I hope you don't think there is any want of sympathy on my part," he said. "You are quite right to go to your father. That was all I meant." He was agitated, honestly agitated, while he spoke. Iris saw it, and felt it gratefully. She was on the point of making a last appeal to his confidence, when he opened the door for her. "Don't let me detain you," he said. His voice faltered; he suddenly turned aside before she could look at him.