Don't be down-hearted, Arabella; nature never meant your
husband for a doctor, and there's the long and the short of it. Another
glass of sherry, Mr. Mountjoy?"
All social ceremonies--including the curious English custom which sends
the ladies upstairs, after dinner, and leaves the gentlemen at the
table--found a devoted adherent in Mrs. Vimpany. She rose as if she had
been presiding at a banquet, and led Miss Henley affectionately to the
drawing-room. Iris glanced at Hugh. No; his mind was not at ease yet;
the preoccupied look had not left his face.
Jovial Mr. Vimpany pushed the bottle across the table to his guest, and
held out a handful of big black cigars.
"Now for the juice of the grape," he cried, "and the best cigar in all
England!"
He had just filled his glass, and struck a light for his cigar, when
the servant came in with a note. Some men relieve their sense of
indignation in one way, and some in another. The doctor's form of
relief was an oath. "Talk about slavery!" he shouted. "Find me such a
slave in all Africa as a man in my profession. There isn't an hour of
the day or night that he can call his own. Here's a stupid old woman
with an asthma, who has got another spasmodic attack--and I must leave
my dinner-table and my friend, just as we are enjoying ourselves.
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