There was a short silence. Barrington had the air of a man who has received a shock.
“Ruth!” he exclaimed, glancing towards the door, and speaking almost in a whisper. “Do you mean—that there are things which I have never known?”
“Yes!” she answered. “I mean that he might, if he chose, do us now—both of us—an immense amount of harm.”
Barrington sat down at the end of the sofa. He knew his wife well enough to understand that this was serious.
“Let us understand one another, Ruth,” he said quietly. “I always thought that you were a little severe on Wingrave at the trial! He may bear you a grudge for that; it is very possible that he does. But what can he do now? He had his chance to cross examine you, and he let it go by.”
“He has some letters of mine,” Lady Ruth said slowly.
“Letters! Written before the trial?”
“Yes!”
“Why did he not make use of them there?”
“If he had,” Lady Ruth said, with her eyes fixed upon the carpet, “the sympathy would have been the other way. He would have got off with a much lighter sentence, and you—would not have married me!”