“Well, she’s on quite friendly terms with that young fellow, Harold Ruthen.”
“Ruthen!” I echoed. “I didn’t know they were acquainted. I’ve never seen them speak.”
“No, not when you are about,” replied the old man laughing. “But I’ve often seen them chatting together.”
This surprised me. Harold Ruthen was a rather foppish, fair-haired man about my own age, whose airs were of the superior type. His interest in Thelma had not escaped me, but I had never seen them speaking together. He was, I understood, an ex-officer, and he was a very good skater. But at first sight I had taken an instinctive dislike to him and, that he should have made Thelma’s acquaintance in secret, greatly annoyed me.
I felt myself responsible to Stanley Audley, even if he had deceived me.
Now I found myself in a difficulty. Only at that moment I recollected how, on the morning before Thelma’s husband had announced his forced return to London, I had seen Ruthen walking with the doctor up a narrow path with high snow-banks close to the hotel. They were deep in conversation, and old Feng seemed to be impressing some point upon Ruthen while he listened very attentively.
Did Dr. Feng know more than he admitted?
I must say that I did not like his hostile attitude towards the newly wedded pair, an attitude which now seemed to be shared by old Mr. Humphreys.
That night, when Thelma came to table, she was wearing a charming gown of almond green, that we had not seen before. Though she looked beautiful, her face was more serious than usual, and I suspected that I saw traces of tears.
As we sat together I fell to wondering who was Stanley Audley? Why had he deceived his young wife, and then deserted her, leaving her in my charge?