“I consent,” she said, with a little shudder. “I am going now.”
“You are a sensible woman,” he answered. “Aynesworth, show Lady Ruth to her carriage.”
She rose to her feet. Hung from her neck by a chain of fine gold, was a large Chinchilla muff. She stood before him, and her hands had sought its shelter. Timidly she withdrew one.
“Will you shake hands with me, Wingrave?” she asked timidly.
He shook his head.
“Forgive me,” he said; “I may better my manners in America, but a present I cannot.”
She passed out of the room. Aynesworth followed, closing the door behind them. In the corridor she stumbled, and caught at his arm for support.
“Don’t speak to me,” she gasped. “Take me where I can sit down.”
He found her a quiet corner in the drawing room. She sat perfectly still for nearly five minutes, with her eyes closed. Then she opened them, and looked at her companion.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, “are you so poor that you must serve a man like that?”