In an instant the carriage was stopped, and the two men (never on friendly terms) were formally bowing to each other.
"I was told I should find you," Lord Harry said, "with Miss Henley, at the station." "Who gave you your information ?" "Vimpany--the doctor." "He ought to know that the train isn't due at the station for an hour yet." "Has the blackguard deceived me?
One word more, Mr.Mountjoy.Is Miss Henley at the inn ?" "No." "Are you going with her to London ?" "I must leave Miss Henley to answer that." "Where is she, sir ?" "There is an end to everything, my lord, in the world we live in.

You have reached the end of my readiness to answer questions." The Englishman and the Irishman looked at each other: the Anglo-Saxon was impenetrably cool; the Celt was flushed and angry.

They might have been on the brink of a quarrel, but for Lord Harry's native quickness of perception, and his exercise of it at that moment.

When he had called at Mr.Vimpany's house, and had asked for Iris, the doctor had got rid of him by means of a lie.

After this discovery, at what conclusion could he arrive?
The doctor was certainly keeping Iris out of his way.
Reasoning in this rapid manner, Lord Harry let one offence pass, in his headlong eagerness to resent another.