London, when a
servant appeared one morning with a visiting card, and announced that a
gentleman had called who wished to see Miss Henley. She looked at the
card. The gentleman was Mr. Vimpany.

On the point of directing the man to say that she was engaged, Iris
checked herself.

Mrs. Vimpany's farewell words had produced a strong impression on her.
There had been moments of doubt and gloom in her later life, when the
remembrance of that unhappy woman was associated with a feeling
(perhaps a morbid feeling) of self-reproach. It seemed to be hard on
the poor penitent wretch not to have written to her. Was she still
leading the same dreary life in the mouldering old town? Or had she
made another attempt to return to the ungrateful stage? The gross
husband, impudently presenting himself with his card and his message,
could answer those questions if he could do nothing else. For that
reason only Iris decided that she would receive Mr. Vimpany.

On entering the room, she found two discoveries awaiting her, for which
she was entirely unprepared.

The doctor's personal appearance exhibited a striking change; he was
dressed, in accordance with the strictest notions of professional
propriety, entirely in black. More remarkable still, there happened to
be a French novel among the books on the table--and that novel Mr.
Vimpany, barbarous Mr. Vimpany, was actually reading with an appearance
of understanding it!

"I seem to surprise you," said the doctor. "Is it this?" He held up the
French novel as he put the question.

"I must own that I was not aware of the range of your accomplishments,"
Iris answered.

"Oh, don't talk of accomplishments! I learnt my profession in Paris.
For nigh on three years I lived among the French medical students.
Noticing this book on the table, I thought I would try whether I had
forgotten the language--in the time that has passed (you know) since
those days. Well, my memory isn't a good one in most things, but
strange to say (force of habit, I suppose), some of my French sticks by
me still. I hope I see you well, Miss Henley. Might I ask if you
noticed the new address, when I sent up my card?"

"I only noticed your name."

The doctor produced his pocket-book, and took out a second card. With
pride he pointed to the address: "5 Redburn Road, Hampstead Heath."
With pride he looked at his black clothes. "Strictly professional,
isn't it?" he said. "I have bought a new practice; and I have becom