The Malefactor [94]
not understand."
His lip curled with scorn.
"You are one of those," he said, "who, as a child, were wise, but as a young woman with a little knowledge, become--a prig. What harm is my money likely to do you? I may be the Devil himself, but my gold is not tainted. For the rest, granted that I am at war with the world, I do not number children amongst my enemies."
She raised her eyes then, and looked him in the face.
"I am not afraid of you," she declared. "It is not that; but I have been dependent long enough. I will keep myself--or starve."
He shrugged his shoulders and paid the bill.
"My man," he said, "will take you wherever you like. I have a call to make close here."
They stood upon the pavement. She held out her hand a little timidly. Her eyes were soft and wistful.
"Goodbye, guardian," she said. "Thank you very much for my lunch."
"Ah!" he said gravely, "if you would let me always call myself that!"
She got into the car without a word. Wingrave walked straight back to his own house. Several people were waiting in the entrance hall, and the visitors' book was open upon the porter's desk. He walked through, looking neither to the right nor the left, crossed the great library, with its curved roof, its floor of cedar wood, and its wonderful stained-glass windows, and entered a smaller room beyond--his absolute and impenetrable sanctum. He rang the bell for his servant.
"Morrison," he said, "if you allow me to be disturbed by any living person, on any pretense whatever, until I ring, you lose your place. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
Wingrave locked the door. The next hour belonged to himself alone . . . .
When at last he rang the bell, he gave Morrison a note.
"This is to be delivered at once," he said.
The man bowed and withdrew. Wingrave, with his hands behind him, strolled out into the library. In a remote corner, a small spectacled person was busy writing at a table. Wingrave crossed the room and stood before him.
"Are you my librarian?" he asked.
The man rose at once.
"Certainly, sir," he answered. "My name is Woodall. You may have forgotten it. I am at work now upon a new catalogue."
Wingrave nodded.
"I have a quarto Shakespeare, I think," he said, "that I marked at Sotheby's, also a manuscript Thomas a Kempis, and a first edition of Herrick. I should like to see them."
"By all means," the man answered, hurrying to the shelves. "You have, also, a wonderful rare collection of manuscripts, purchased from the Abbey St. Jouvain, and a unique Horace. If you will permit me."
Wingrave spent half an hour examining his treasures, leaving his attendant astonished.
"A millionaire who understands!" he exclaimed softly as he resumed his seat. "Miraculous!"
Wingrave passed into the hall, and summoned his major domo.
"Show me the ballroom," he ordered, "and the winter garden."
The little man in quiet black clothes--Wingrave abhorred liveries--led him respectfully through rooms probably unequaled for magnificence in England. He spoke of the exquisite work of French and Italian artists; with a gesture almost of reverence he pointed out the carving in the wonderful white ballroom.
Wingrave listened and watched with immovable face. Just as they had completed their tour, Morrison approached.
"Mr. Lumley and Lady Ruth Barrington are in the library, sir," he announced.
Wingrave nodded.
"I am coming at once," he said.
THE WAY OF PEACE
They awaited his coming in varying moods. Barrington was irritable and restless, Lady Ruth gave no signs of any emotion whatever. She had the air of a woman who had no longer fear or hope. Only her eyes were a little weary.
Barrington was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed upon his wife. Every now and then he glanced nervously towards her.
"Of course," he said, "if he wants a settlement--well, there's an end of all things. And I don't see why he shouldn't. He hasn't lent money out of friendship. He hates me--always has done, and sometimes I wonder whether
His lip curled with scorn.
"You are one of those," he said, "who, as a child, were wise, but as a young woman with a little knowledge, become--a prig. What harm is my money likely to do you? I may be the Devil himself, but my gold is not tainted. For the rest, granted that I am at war with the world, I do not number children amongst my enemies."
She raised her eyes then, and looked him in the face.
"I am not afraid of you," she declared. "It is not that; but I have been dependent long enough. I will keep myself--or starve."
He shrugged his shoulders and paid the bill.
"My man," he said, "will take you wherever you like. I have a call to make close here."
They stood upon the pavement. She held out her hand a little timidly. Her eyes were soft and wistful.
"Goodbye, guardian," she said. "Thank you very much for my lunch."
"Ah!" he said gravely, "if you would let me always call myself that!"
She got into the car without a word. Wingrave walked straight back to his own house. Several people were waiting in the entrance hall, and the visitors' book was open upon the porter's desk. He walked through, looking neither to the right nor the left, crossed the great library, with its curved roof, its floor of cedar wood, and its wonderful stained-glass windows, and entered a smaller room beyond--his absolute and impenetrable sanctum. He rang the bell for his servant.
"Morrison," he said, "if you allow me to be disturbed by any living person, on any pretense whatever, until I ring, you lose your place. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
Wingrave locked the door. The next hour belonged to himself alone . . . .
When at last he rang the bell, he gave Morrison a note.
"This is to be delivered at once," he said.
The man bowed and withdrew. Wingrave, with his hands behind him, strolled out into the library. In a remote corner, a small spectacled person was busy writing at a table. Wingrave crossed the room and stood before him.
"Are you my librarian?" he asked.
The man rose at once.
"Certainly, sir," he answered. "My name is Woodall. You may have forgotten it. I am at work now upon a new catalogue."
Wingrave nodded.
"I have a quarto Shakespeare, I think," he said, "that I marked at Sotheby's, also a manuscript Thomas a Kempis, and a first edition of Herrick. I should like to see them."
"By all means," the man answered, hurrying to the shelves. "You have, also, a wonderful rare collection of manuscripts, purchased from the Abbey St. Jouvain, and a unique Horace. If you will permit me."
Wingrave spent half an hour examining his treasures, leaving his attendant astonished.
"A millionaire who understands!" he exclaimed softly as he resumed his seat. "Miraculous!"
Wingrave passed into the hall, and summoned his major domo.
"Show me the ballroom," he ordered, "and the winter garden."
The little man in quiet black clothes--Wingrave abhorred liveries--led him respectfully through rooms probably unequaled for magnificence in England. He spoke of the exquisite work of French and Italian artists; with a gesture almost of reverence he pointed out the carving in the wonderful white ballroom.
Wingrave listened and watched with immovable face. Just as they had completed their tour, Morrison approached.
"Mr. Lumley and Lady Ruth Barrington are in the library, sir," he announced.
Wingrave nodded.
"I am coming at once," he said.
THE WAY OF PEACE
They awaited his coming in varying moods. Barrington was irritable and restless, Lady Ruth gave no signs of any emotion whatever. She had the air of a woman who had no longer fear or hope. Only her eyes were a little weary.
Barrington was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed upon his wife. Every now and then he glanced nervously towards her.
"Of course," he said, "if he wants a settlement--well, there's an end of all things. And I don't see why he shouldn't. He hasn't lent money out of friendship. He hates me--always has done, and sometimes I wonder whether