re is another
sickly plant, which I have undertaken to rear if the thing can be done.
My gardening is of the medical kind--I can only carry it on
indoors--and whatever else it may be, I tell you plainly, like the
outspoken sort of fellow I am, it's not likely to prove agreeable to a
lady. No offence, I hope? Your humble servant is only trying to produce
the right sort of impression--and takes leave to doubt his lordship in
one particular."

"In what particular, sir?"

"I'll put it in the form of a question, ma'am. Has my friend persuaded
you to make arrangements for leaving the cottage?"

Iris looked at Lord Harry's friend without attempting to conceal her
opinion of him.

"I call that an impertinent question," she said. "By what right do you
presume to inquire into what my husband and I may, or may not, have
said to each other?"

"Will you do me a favour, my lady? Or, if that is asking too much,
perhaps you will not object to do justice to yourself. Suppose you try
to exercise the virtue of self-control?

"Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany. Pray understand that you are not capable
of making me angry."

"Many thanks, Lady Harry: you encourage me to go on. When I was bold
enough to speak of your leaving the cottage, my motive was to prevent
you from being needlessly alarmed."

Did this mean that he was about to take her into his confidence? All
her experience of him forbade her to believe it possible. But the
doubts and fears occasioned by her interview with her husband had
mastered her better sense; and the effort to conceal from the doctor
the anxiety under which she suffered was steadily weakening the
influence of her self-respect. "Why should I be alarmed?" she asked, in
the vain hope of encouraging him to tell the truth.

The doctor arrived at a hasty conclusion, on his side. Believing that
he had shaken her resolution, he no longer troubled himself to assume
the forms of politeness which he had hitherto, with some difficulty,
contrived to observe.

"In this curious little world of ours," he resumed, "we enjoy our lives
on infernally hard terms. We live on condition that we die. The man I
want to cure may die, in spite of the best I can do for him---he may
sink slowly, by what we medical men call a hard death. For example, it
wouldn't much surprise me if I found some difficulty in keeping him in
his bed. He might roam all over your cottage when my back was turned.
Or he might pay the debt of Nature--as someb