The Malefactor [65]
to borrow money of me, I suppose?"
"I guessed it," Aynesworth answered. "You should be modern in your revenge and lend it to him."
Wingrave smiled coldly.
"I fancy," he said, "that Lumley Barrington will find my revenge modern enough. I may lend the money they need--but it will be to Lady Ruth! I told her husband so a few minutes ago. I told him to send his wife to me. He has gone to tell her now!"
"I wonder," Aynesworth remarked, "that he did not thrash you--or try to."
Again Wingrave's lips parted.
"Moral deterioration has set in already," he remarked. "When he pays his bills with my money, he will lose the little he has left of his self-respect."
Aynesworth turned abruptly away. He was strongly tempted to say things which would have ended his connection with Wingrave, and as yet he was not ready to leave. For the sake of a digression, he took up a check book from the table.
"There are three checks," he remarked, "which I cannot trace. One for ten thousand pounds, another for five, and a third for a thousand pounds. What account shall I put them to?"
"Private drawing account," Wingrave answered. "They represent a small speculation. By the bye, you'd better go and ring up Walters."
"Do you wish the particulars entered in your sundry investment book?" Aynesworth asked.
Wingrave smiled grimly.
"I think not," he answered. "You can put them to drawing account. If you want me again this evening, I shall dine at the Cafe Royal at eight o'clock, and shall return here at five minutes to nine."
. . . . . . . . . . .
Lady Ruth was punctual. At a few minutes past nine, Morrison announced that a lady had called to see Mr. Wingrave by appointment.
"You can show her in," Wingrave said. "See that we are not disturbed."
Lady Ruth was scarcely herself. She was dressed in a high-necked muslin gown, and she wore a hat and veil, which somewhat obscured her features. The latter she raised, however, as she accepted the chair which Wingrave had placed for her. He saw then that she was pale, and her manner betrayed an altogether unfamiliar nervousness. She avoided his eyes.
"Did you expect me?" she asked.
"Yes!" he answered, "I thought that you would come."
Her foot, long and slender, beat impatiently upon the ground. She looked up at him once, but immediately withdrew her eyes.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked in a low tone.
"My dear Lady Ruth!" he protested.
"If you want to play at being friends," she said, "for heaven's sake call me Ruth. You found it easy enough once."
"You are very kind," he answered. "Ruth, by all means."
"Now will you answer my question?" she said. "Do you mean--to help us?"
"Us--no!" he answered; "you--perhaps yes!" he added.
Then she looked at him, and found herself puzzled by the perfect impassivity of his features. Surely he would drop the mask now. He had insisted upon her coming!
"Perhaps?" she repeated. "What then--are the conditions?"
He bent over towards her. Curiously enough, there was, mingled with many other sensations, a certain sense of triumph in the thought, it was almost a hope, that at last he was going to betray himself, that he was going to admit tacitly, or by imputation, that her power over him was not wholly dead. It was a terrible situation--in her heart she felt so, but it had its compensations. Wingrave had been her constant attendant for months. He had seen her surrounded by men, all anxious to secure a smile from her; he had seen her play the great lady in her own house, and she played it very well. She knew that she was a past mistress in the arts which fascinate his sex, she understood the quiet speeches, the moods, every trick of the gamester in emotions, from the fluttering of eyelids to the unchaining of the passions. And he had loved her. Underneath it all, he must love her now. She was determined that he should tell her so. It was genuine excitement which throbbed in her pulses, a genuine color which burned in her cheeks.
"The conditions?" he repeated. "You believe, then, that I mean
"I guessed it," Aynesworth answered. "You should be modern in your revenge and lend it to him."
Wingrave smiled coldly.
"I fancy," he said, "that Lumley Barrington will find my revenge modern enough. I may lend the money they need--but it will be to Lady Ruth! I told her husband so a few minutes ago. I told him to send his wife to me. He has gone to tell her now!"
"I wonder," Aynesworth remarked, "that he did not thrash you--or try to."
Again Wingrave's lips parted.
"Moral deterioration has set in already," he remarked. "When he pays his bills with my money, he will lose the little he has left of his self-respect."
Aynesworth turned abruptly away. He was strongly tempted to say things which would have ended his connection with Wingrave, and as yet he was not ready to leave. For the sake of a digression, he took up a check book from the table.
"There are three checks," he remarked, "which I cannot trace. One for ten thousand pounds, another for five, and a third for a thousand pounds. What account shall I put them to?"
"Private drawing account," Wingrave answered. "They represent a small speculation. By the bye, you'd better go and ring up Walters."
"Do you wish the particulars entered in your sundry investment book?" Aynesworth asked.
Wingrave smiled grimly.
"I think not," he answered. "You can put them to drawing account. If you want me again this evening, I shall dine at the Cafe Royal at eight o'clock, and shall return here at five minutes to nine."
. . . . . . . . . . .
Lady Ruth was punctual. At a few minutes past nine, Morrison announced that a lady had called to see Mr. Wingrave by appointment.
"You can show her in," Wingrave said. "See that we are not disturbed."
Lady Ruth was scarcely herself. She was dressed in a high-necked muslin gown, and she wore a hat and veil, which somewhat obscured her features. The latter she raised, however, as she accepted the chair which Wingrave had placed for her. He saw then that she was pale, and her manner betrayed an altogether unfamiliar nervousness. She avoided his eyes.
"Did you expect me?" she asked.
"Yes!" he answered, "I thought that you would come."
Her foot, long and slender, beat impatiently upon the ground. She looked up at him once, but immediately withdrew her eyes.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked in a low tone.
"My dear Lady Ruth!" he protested.
"If you want to play at being friends," she said, "for heaven's sake call me Ruth. You found it easy enough once."
"You are very kind," he answered. "Ruth, by all means."
"Now will you answer my question?" she said. "Do you mean--to help us?"
"Us--no!" he answered; "you--perhaps yes!" he added.
Then she looked at him, and found herself puzzled by the perfect impassivity of his features. Surely he would drop the mask now. He had insisted upon her coming!
"Perhaps?" she repeated. "What then--are the conditions?"
He bent over towards her. Curiously enough, there was, mingled with many other sensations, a certain sense of triumph in the thought, it was almost a hope, that at last he was going to betray himself, that he was going to admit tacitly, or by imputation, that her power over him was not wholly dead. It was a terrible situation--in her heart she felt so, but it had its compensations. Wingrave had been her constant attendant for months. He had seen her surrounded by men, all anxious to secure a smile from her; he had seen her play the great lady in her own house, and she played it very well. She knew that she was a past mistress in the arts which fascinate his sex, she understood the quiet speeches, the moods, every trick of the gamester in emotions, from the fluttering of eyelids to the unchaining of the passions. And he had loved her. Underneath it all, he must love her now. She was determined that he should tell her so. It was genuine excitement which throbbed in her pulses, a genuine color which burned in her cheeks.
"The conditions?" he repeated. "You believe, then, that I mean