Was she still leading the same dreary life in the mouldering old town?
Or had she made another attempt to return to the ungrateful stage?
The gross husband, impudently presenting himself with his card and his message, could answer those questions if he could do nothing else.

For that reason only Iris decided that she would receive Mr.Vimpany.
On entering the room, she found two discoveries awaiting her, for which she was entirely unprepared.
The doctor's personal appearance exhibited a striking change; he was dressed, in accordance with the strictest notions of professional propriety, entirely in black.

More remarkable still, there happened to be a French novel among the books on the table--and that novel Mr.
Vimpany, barbarous Mr.Vimpany, was actually reading with an appearance of understanding it! "I seem to surprise you," said the doctor.

"Is it this ?" He held up the French novel as he put the question.
"I must own that I was not aware of the range of your accomplishments," Iris answered.
"Oh, don't talk of accomplishments! I learnt my profession in Paris.
For nigh on three years I lived among the French medical students.
Noticing this book on the table, I thought I would try whether I had forgotten the language--in the time that has passed (you know) since those days.

Well, my memory isn't a good one in most things, but strange to say (force of habit, I suppose), some of my French sticks by me still.