"I will try to make it plainer. Do you really mean to leave me this
evening?"

"I do."

"May I own that I am grieved to hear it? Your departure will deprive me
of some happy hours, in your company."

"Your husband's conduct leaves me no alternative," Iris replied.

"Pray do not humiliate me by speaking of my husband! I only want to
know if there is a harder trial of my fortitude still to come. Must I
lose the privilege of being your friend?"

"I hope I am not capable of such injustice as that," Iris declared. "It
would be hard indeed to lay the blame of Mr. Vimpany's shameful
behaviour on you. I don't forget that you made him offer an apology.
Some women, married to such a man as that, might have been afraid of
him. No, no; you have been a good friend to me--and I mean to remember
it."

Mrs. Vimpany's gratitude was too sincerely felt to be expressed with
her customary readiness. She only said what the stupidest woman in
existence could have said: "Thank you."

In the silence that followed, the rapid movement of carriage wheels
became audible in the street. The sound stopped at the door of the
doctor's house.