She smiled a little wearily.
“Do you think so, Lumley?”
“I am sure of it, Ruth,” he answered. “I only wish I could see you a little more cheerful. Surely you can’t still—be afraid of Wingrave,” he added, glancing uneasily across the table.
She looked him in the eyes.
“That is exactly what I am,” she answered. “I am afraid of him. I have always been afraid. Nothing has happened to change him. He came back to have his revenge. He will have it.”
Lumley Barrington, for once, felt himself superior to his clever wife. He smiled upon her reassuringly.
“My dear Ruth,” he said, “if only you would reflect for a few moments, I feel sure you would realize the absurdity of such fancies. We did Wingrave a service in introducing him to society here, and I am sure that he appreciated it. If he wished for our ruin, why did he lend us eight thousand pounds on no security? Why does he lend us his yacht to entertain our friends? Why did he give me that information which enabled me to make the only money I ever did make on the Stock Exchange?”
She smiled contemptuously.
“You do not understand a man like Wingrave,” she declared. “Nothing that he has done is inconsistent with my point of view. He gave you a safe tip, knowing very well that when you had won a little, you would try again on your own account and lose—which you did. He lent us the money to become our creditor; and he lends us the yacht to give another handle to the people who are saying already that he occupies the position in our family which is more fully recognized on the other side of the Channel!”
“You are talking rubbish,” he declared vehemently. “No one would dare to say such a thing of you—of my wife!”