He went downstairs, all in the most calm and deliberate way, as if everything depended upon his being perfectly cool, and after ringing for one of the servants, he was helped on with his light overcoat, his hat and gloves were handed to him, his black cane with its crutch handle, and he went quietly out into the square. He raised his cane as a hansom cab came by, got in, and was driven to the Channel Hotel, where he paid and dismissed the man. An attendant was in the vestibule as he entered, and, beckoning to the man, he placed a half-sovereign in his hand, a feeling of shrinking on the increase, and the shame making him hesitate as he asked whether two ladies had come there since eight or nine o'clock. "Two ladies, without luggage? Yes, sir. And a gentleman. In Number 99, sir." Lord Henry hesitated again, for love and chivalry seemed to throw themselves in his way to prevent him from doing what he told himself was a mean action. But he felt that he must go on now, and, going a little closer to the man, he said: "Take me up at once, and show me in without announcing my name." The man nodded, and led him up the great staircase, passing what seemed to be innumerable rooms before stopping at one where he waited for his lordship to come close up before throwing open the door for him to enter. The telegram was right so far: Lady Henry Moorpark was there, but she was in company with Ruth. So far good; but Captain Marcus Glen, her old lover, was present, and Mr Paul Montaigne. Marie sank into the nearest chair. Paul Montaigne caught Ruth by the wrist, and whispered a few words; while, on seeing who had come, Marcus Glen stepped boldly forward, and seemed ready to defend the woman he loved. "Be silent," whispered Montaigne--"not a word! Your only hope now is to cling to me." "May I ask what is the meaning of this meeting, Lady Henry?" asked his lordship. "I had a telegram advising me to come here, and I find you in company with Captain Glen." "Who came to meet me, Lord Henry," cried Ruth, flinging off Montaigne's grasp and clinging to Glen's arm. Glen directed one glance at Marie, who had turned from him, and was standing with knitted brow, half-closed eyes, and blanched face, crushed down as it were by her shame, and with all a soldier's quickness of decision he determined to try and save her. "Let me explain, Lord Henry--Lady Henry," said Glen quickly. "I am to blame for this clandestine meeting. Lady Henry, you meant well by your pursuit, but you cannot alter matters now. Ruth accepts me as her husband, and nothing but force would take her away. If I have spoken too plainly, you must forgive me. Once more, I am to blame." "Well acted," muttered Montaigne. "Now, my Lady Marie; it is your turn now." But Marie stood as if stunned. "This is fine, heroic language, Captain Glen," said Lord Henry; "may I ask to how many ladies you have used it before?"