“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—”