Mr. Barrington looked at his wife inquiringly.
“That seems to me entirely satisfactory, Ruth,” he said. “I think that he might have added a word or two of acknowledgment for what you did for him. There is no doubt that, but for your promptness, things might have gone much worse.”
“Yes,” Lady Ruth said slowly, “I think that he might have added a few words.”
Her husband regarded her critically.
“I am afraid, dear,” he said, “that all this anxiety has knocked you up a little. You are not looking well.”
“I am tired,” she answered calmly. “It has been a long season. I should like to do what Wingrave has done—go away somewhere and rest.”
Barrington laid his hand upon hers affectionately. It seemed to him that the rings hung a little loosely upon the thin, white fingers. She was pale, too, and her eyes were weary. He did not notice that, as soon as she could, she drew her hand away.
“Pon my word,” he said, “I wish we could go off somewhere by ourselves. But with Wingrave’s yacht to entertain on, we must do something for a few of the people. I don’t suppose he minds whom we ask, or how many.”
“No!” she answered, “I do not suppose he cares.”
“It is most opportune,” Barrington declared. “I wanted particularly to do something for the Hendersons. He seems very well disposed, and his influence means everything just now. Really, Ruth, I believe we are going to pull through after all.”