I'm what they call a rough diamond. No, offence, I say?"

"None whatever, Mr. Vimpany."

"That's right! Try another glass of sherry."

Mountjoy took the sherry.

Iris looked at him, lost in surprise. It was unlike Hugh to be
interested in a stranger's opinion of wine. It was unlike him to drink
wine which was evidently not to his taste. And it was especially unlike
his customary courtesy to let himself fall into thought at dinner-time,
when there were other persons at the table. Was he ill? Impossible to
look at him, and not see that he was in perfect health. What did it
mean?

Finding Mountjoy inattentive, Mr. Vimpany addressed himself to Iris.

"I had to ride hard, Miss Henley, to get home in time for dinner. There
are patients, I must tell you, who send for the doctor, and then seem
to think they know more about it than the very man whom they have
called in to cure them. It isn't he who tells them what their illness
is; it's they who tell him. They dispute about the medical treatment
that's best for them, and the one thing they are never tired of doing
is talking about their symptoms. It was an old man's gabble that kept
me late to-day. However, the Squire, as they call him in these parts,
is a patient with a long purse; I am obliged to submit."

"A gentleman of the old school, dear Miss Henley," Mrs. Vimpany
explained. "Immensely rich. Is he better?" she asked, turning to her