LITMIR.BIZ

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will remain here, Aynesworth,” he said. “There are some papers at that desk which require sorting.”

      Aynesworth hesitated. He had caught the look on Lady Ruth’s face.

      “If you could excuse me for half an hour, Sir Wingrave,” he began.

      “I cannot spare you at present,” Wingrave interrupted. “Kindly remain!”

      Aynesworth had no alternative but to obey. Wingrave handed a chair to Lady Ruth. He was looking at her steadfastly. There were no signs of any sort of emotion in his face. Whatever their relations in the past might have been, it was hard to believe, from his present demeanor, that he felt any.

      “Wingrave,” she said softly, “are you going to be unkind to me—you, whom I have always thought of in my dreams as the most generous of men! I have looked forward so much to seeing you again—to knowing that you were free! Don’t disappoint me!”

      Wingrave laughed shortly, and Aynesworth bent closer over his work, with a gathering frown upon his forehead. A mirthless laugh is never a pleasant sound.

      “Disappoint you!” he repeated calmly. “No! I must try and avoid that! You have been looking forward with so much joy to this meeting then? I am flattered.”

      She shivered a little.

      “I have looked forward to it,” she answered, and her voice was dull and lifeless with pain. “But you are not glad to see me,” she continued. “There is no welcome in your face! You are changed—altogether! Why did you send for me?”

      “Listen!”

      There was a moment’s silence. Wingrave was standing upon the hearthrug, cold, passionless, Sphinx-like. Lady Ruth was seated a few feet away, but her face was hidden.

      “You owe me something!” he said.

      “Owe—you something?” she repeated vaguely.

      “Do you deny it?” he said.

      “Oh, no, no!” she declared with emotion. “Not for a moment.”

      “I want,” he said, “to give you an opportunity of repaying some portion of that debt!”

      She raised her eyes to his. Her whispered words came so softly that they were almost inaudible.

      “I am waiting,” she said. “Tell me what I can do!”

      He commenced to speak at some length, very impassively, very deliberately.

      “You will doubtless appreciate the fact,” he said, “that my position, today, is a somewhat peculiar one. I have had enough of solitude. I am rich! I desire to mix once more on equal terms amongst my fellows. And against that, I have the misfortune to be a convicted felon, who has spent the last ten or a dozen years amongst the scum of the earth, engaged in degrading tasks, and with no identity save a number. The position, as you will doubtless observe, is a difficult one.”

      Her eyes fell from his. Once more she shivered, as though with physical pain. Something that was like a smile, only that it was cold and lifeless, flitted across his lips.

      “I have no desire,” he continued, “to live in foreign countries. On the contrary, I have plans which necessitate my living in England. The difficulties by this time are, without doubt, fully apparent to you.”

      She said nothing. Her eyes were once more watching his face.

      “My looking glass,” he continued, “shows me that I am changed beyond any reasonable chance of recognition. I do not believe that the Wingrave Seton of today would readily be recognized as the Wingrave Seton of twelve years ago. But I propose to make assurance doubly sure. I am leaving this country for several years, at once. I shall go to America, and I shall return as Mr. Wingrave, millionaire—and I propose, by the way, to make money there. I desire, under that identity, to take my place once more amongst my fellows. I shall bring letters of introduction—to you.”

      There was a long and somewhat ominous silence! Lady Ruth’s eyes were fixed upon the floor. She was thinking, and thinking rapidly, but there were no signs of it in her pale drawn face. At last she looked up.

      “There is my husband,” she said. “He would recognize you, if no one else did.”

      “You are a clever woman,” he answered. “I leave it to you to deal with your husband as seems best to you.”

      “Other people,” she faltered, “would recognize you!”

      “Do me the favor,” he begged her, “to look at me carefully for several moments. You doubtless have some imperfect recollection of what I was. Compare it with my present appearance! I venture to think that you will agree with me. Recognition is barely possible.”

      Again there was silence. Lady Ruth seemed to have no words, but there was the look of a frightened child upon her face.

      “I am sorry,” he continued, “that the idea does not appeal to you! I can understand that my presence may serve to recall a period which you and your husband would doubtless prefer to forget—”

      “Stop!”

      A little staccato cry of pain; a cry which seemed to spring into life from a tortured heart, broke from her lips. Aynesworth heard it, and, at that moment, he hated his employer. Wingrave paused for a moment politely, and then continued.

      “But after all,” he said, “I can assure you that you will find very little in the Mr. Wingrave of New York to remind you of the past. I shall do my utmost to win for myself a place in your esteem, which will help you to forget the other relationship, which, if my memory serves me, used once to exist between us!”

      She raised her head. Either she realized that, for the present, the man was immune against all sentiment, or his calm brutality had had a correspondingly hardening effect upon her.

      “If I agree,” she said, “will you give me back my letters?”

      “No!” he answered.

      “What are you going to do with them?”

      “It depends,” he said, “upon you. I enter into no engagement. I make no promises. I simply remind you that it would be equally possible for me to take my place in the world as a rehabilitated Wingrave Seton. Ten years ago I yielded to sentiment. Today I have outlived it.”

      “Ten years ago,” she murmured, “you were a hero. God knows what you are now!”

      “Exactly!” he answered smoothly. “I am free to admit that I am a puzzle to myself. I find myself, in fact, a most interesting study.”

      “I consent,” she said, with a little shudder. “I am going now.”

      “You are a sensible woman,” he answered. “Aynesworth, show Lady Ruth to her carriage.”

      She rose to her feet. Hung from her neck by a chain of fine gold, was a large Chinchilla muff. She stood before him, and her hands had sought its shelter. Timidly she withdrew one.

      “Will you shake hands with me, Wingrave?” she asked timidly.

      He shook his head.

      “Forgive me,” he said; “I may better my manners in America, but a present I cannot.”

      She passed out of the room. Aynesworth followed, closing the door behind them. In the corridor she stumbled, and caught at his arm for support.

      “Don’t speak to me,” she gasped. “Take me where I can sit down.”

      He found her a quiet corner in the drawing room. She sat perfectly still for nearly five minutes, with her eyes closed. Then she opened them, and looked at her companion.

      “Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, “are you so poor that you must serve a man like that?”

      He

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