“I should let him go for the present,” Lady Ruth said. “If Mr. Wingrave wishes to prosecute afterwards, it will be easy for him to do so.” She stepped back to where Wingrave lay. He was in a recumbent position now and, although a little pale, he was obviously not seriously hurt. “If there is nothing else that I can do,” she said, “I will go now!” “By all means,” Wingrave answered. “I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kindness,” he added a little stiffly. “Morrison, show Lady Barrington to her carriage!” She spoke a few conventional words of farewell and departed. Outside on the pavement she stood for a moment, looking carefully around. There was no sign of Richardson anywhere! She stepped into the carriage and leaned back in the corner. AYNESWORTH PLANS A LOVE STORY Wingrave disappeared suddenly from London. Aynesworth alone knew where he was gone, and he was pledged to secrecy. Two people received letters from him. Lady Ruth was one of them. “This,” she remarked quietly, handing it over to her husband, “may interest you.” He adjusted his eye glasses and read it aloud:-- “Dear Lady Ruth,--I am leaving London today for several weeks. With the usual inconsistency of the person to whom life is by no means a valuable asset, I am obeying the orders of my physician. I regret, therefore, that I cannot have the pleasure of entertaining your husband and yourself during Cowes week. The yacht, however, is entirely at your disposal, and I have written Captain Masterton to that effect. Pray extend your cruise, if you feel inclined to.--I remain, yours sincerely, W.” Mr. Barrington looked at his wife inquiringly. “That seems to me entirely satisfactory, Ruth,” he said. “I think that he might have added a word or two of acknowledgment for what you did for him. There is no doubt that, but for your promptness, things might have gone much worse.” “Yes,” Lady Ruth said slowly, “I think that he might have added a few words.” Her husband regarded her critically. “I am afraid, dear,” he said, “that all this anxiety has knocked you up a little. You are not looking well.” “I am tired,” she answered calmly. “It has been a long season. I should like to do what Wingrave has done--go away somewhere and rest.” Barrington laid his hand upon hers affectionately. It seemed to him that the rings hung a little loosely upon the thin, white fingers. She was pale, too, and her eyes were weary. He did not notice that, as soon as she could, she drew her hand away. “Pon my word,” he said, “I wish we could go off somewhere by ourselves. But with Wingrave’s yacht to entertain on, we must do something for a few of the people. I don’t suppose he minds whom we ask, or how many.” “No!” she answered, “I do not suppose he cares.”