se," he said, "and (perhaps I was mistaken, on my side) I thought
you were, to say the least of it, not particularly civil. You did
certainly use threatening language when you left me. No man likes to be
treated in that way."

Mr. Vimpany's big bold eyes stared at Mountjoy in a state of
bewilderment. "Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he asked.

"I am incapable, Mr. Vimpany, of an act of rudeness towards anybody."

"If you come to that," the doctor stoutly declared, "I am incapable
too. It's plain to me that we have been misunderstanding each other.
Wait a bit; I want to go back for a moment to that threatening language
which you complained of just now. I was sorry for what I had said as
soon as your door was shut on me. On my way downstairs I did think of
turning back and making a friendly apology before I gave you up.
Suppose I had done that?" Mr. Vimpany asked, wondering internally
whether Mountjoy was foolish enough to believe him.

Hugh advanced a little nearer to the design that he had in view.

"You might have found me more kindly disposed towards you," he said,
"than you had anticipated."

This encouraging reply cost him an effort. He had stooped to the
unworthy practice of perverting what he had said and done on a former
occasion, to serve a present interest. Remind himself as he might of
the end which, in the interests of Iris, did really appear to justify
the means, he still sank to a place in his own estimation which he was
honestly ashamed to occupy.

Under other circumstances his hesitation, slight as it was, might have
excited suspicion. As things were, Mr. Vimpany could only discover
golden possibilities that dazzled his eyes. "I wonder whether you're in
the humour," he said, "to be kindly disposed towards me now?"

It was needless to be careful of the feelings of such man as this.
"Suppose you had the money you want in your pocket," Hugh suggested,
"what would you do with it?"

"Go back to London, to be sure, and publish the first number of that
work of mine I told you of."

"And leave your friend, Lord Harry?"

"What good is my friend to me? He's nearly as poor as I am--he sent for
me to advise him--I put him up to a way of filling both our pockets,
and he wouldn't hear of it. What sort of a friend do you call that?"

Pay him and get rid of him. There was the course of proceeding
suggested by the private counsellor in Mountjoy's bosom.

"Have you got the publisher's estimate of expen