THE GAME: MOUNTJOY PLAYS A NEW CARD

MR. VIMPANY (of the College of Surgeons) was a burly man, heavily built
from head to foot. His bold round eyes looked straight at his
fellow-creatures with an expression of impudent good humour; his
whiskers were bushy, his hands were big, his lips were thick, his legs
were solid. Add to this a broad sunburnt face, and a grey coat with
wide tails, a waistcoat with a check pattern, and leather
riding-gaiters--and no stranger could have failed to mistake Mr.
Vimpany for a farmer of the old school. He was proud of the false
impression that he created. "Nature built me to be a farmer," he used
to say. "But my poor foolish old mother was a lady by birth, and she
insisted on her son being a professional man. I hadn't brains for the
Law, or money for the Army, or morals for the Church. And here I am a
country doctor--the one representative of slavery left in the
nineteenth century. You may not believe me, but I never see a labourer
at the plough that I don't envy him."

This was the husband of the elegant lady with the elaborate manners.
This was the man who received Mountjoy with a "Glad to see you, sir,"
and a shake of the hand that hurt him.

"Coarse fare," said Mr. Vimpany, carving a big joint of beef; "but I
can't afford anything better. Only a pudding to follow, and a glass of
glorious old sherry. Miss Henley is good enough to excuse it--and my
wife's used to it--and you will put up with it, Mr. Mountjoy, if you
are half as amiable as you look. I'm an old-fashioned man. The pleasure
of a glass of wine with you, sir."