“I am always tired,” she answered wearily. “I begin to think that I always shall be.”
He said nothing. Lady Ruth closed her eyes for a moment as though from sheer fatigue. Suddenly she opened them again and looked him full in the face.
“Who was she?” she asked.
“I do not understand,” he replied.
“The child you were with—the ingenue, you know—with the pink cheeks and the wonderful eyes! Is she from one of the theaters, or a genuine article?”
“The young lady to whom you refer,” he answered, “is the daughter of an old friend of mine. I am practically her guardian. She is in London studying painting.”
“You are her guardian?” Lady Ruth repeated. “I am sorry for her.”
“You need not be,” he answered. “I trust that I shall be able to fulfill my duties in a perfectly satisfactory manner.”
“Oh! I have no doubt of it,” she answered. “Yet I am sorry for her.”
“You are certainly,” he remarked, “not in an amiable mood.”