“What have you been doing to poor Ruth?” she asked. “I never saw her look so ill!”
“Indeed!” he answered, “I had not noticed it.”
“If I didn’t know her better,” she remarked, “I might begin to suspect her of a conscience. Whose baby were you driving about this afternoon? I didn’t know that your taste ran to ingenues to such an extent. She’s sweetly pretty, but I don’t think it’s nice of you to flaunt her before us middle-aged people. It’s enough to drive us to the rouge box. Come to lunch tomorrow!”
“I shall be delighted,” he answered, and passed on.
An hour or so later, on his way out, he came upon Lady Ruth sitting a little forlornly in the hall.
“I wonder whether I dare ask you to drop me in Cadogan Square?” she asked. “Is it much out of your way? I am leaving a little earlier than I expected.”
“I shall be delighted,” he answered, offering his arm.
They passed out of the door and down the covered way into the street. A few stragglers were loitering on the pavement, and one, a tall, thin young man in a long ulster, bent forwards as they came down the steps. Wingrave felt his companion’s grasp tighten upon his arm; a flash of light upon the pale features and staring eyes of the young man a few feet off, showed him to be in the act of intercepting them. Then, at a sharp word from Wingrave, a policeman stretched out his arm. The young man was pushed unceremoniously away. Wingrave’s tall footman and the policeman formed an impassable barrier—in a moment the electric brougham was gliding down the street. Lady Ruth was leaning back amongst the cushions, and the hand which fell suddenly upon Wingrave’s was cold as ice!