“My message,” Aynesworth said, “is from Sir Wingrave Seton.” The look of enquiry, half impatient, half interrogative, faded slowly from her face. She stood quite still; her impassive features seemed like a plaster cast, from which all life and feeling were drawn out. Her eyes began slowly to dilate, and she shivered as though with cold. Then the man who was watching her and wondering, knew that this was fear--fear undiluted and naked. He stepped forward, and placed a chair for her. She felt for the back of it with trembling fingers and sat down. “Is--Sir Wingrave Seton--out of prison?” she asked in a strange, dry tone. One would have thought that she had been choking. “Since yesterday,” Aynesworth answered. “But his time--is not up yet?” “There is always a reduction,” Aynesworth reminded her, “for what is called good conduct.” She was silent for several moments. Then she raised her head. She was a brave woman, and she was rapidly recovering her self-possession. “Well,” she asked, “what does he want?” “To see you,” Aynesworth answered, “tomorrow afternoon, either here or at his apartments in the Clarence Hotel. He would prefer not to come here!” “Are you his friend?” she asked. “I am his secretary,” Aynesworth answered. “You are in his confidence?” “I only entered his service this morning,” he said. “How much do you know,” she persisted, “of the unfortunate affair which led--to his imprisonment?” “I have been told the whole story,” Aynesworth answered. Her eyes rested thoughtfully upon his. It seemed as though she were trying to read in his face exactly what he meant by “the whole story.” “Then,” she said, “do you think that anything but pain and unpleasantness can come of a meeting between us?” “Lady Ruth,” Aynesworth answered, “it is not for me to form an opinion. I am Sir Wingrave Seton’s secretary.” “What is he going to do?” she asked. “I have no idea,” he answered. “Is he going abroad?” “I know nothing of his plans,” Aynesworth declared. “What answer shall I take back to him?” She looked at him earnestly. Gradually her face was softening. The frozen look was passing away. The expression was coming back to her eyes. She leaned a little towards him. Her voice, although it was raised above a whisper, was full of feeling. “Mr. Aynesworth,” she murmured, “I am afraid of Sir Wingrave Seton!” Aynesworth said nothing. “I was always a little afraid of him,” she continued, “even in the days when we were friendly. He was so hard and unforgiving. I know he thinks that he has a grievance against me. He will have been brooding about it all these years. I dare not see him! I--I am terrified!” “If that is your answer,” Aynesworth said, “I will convey it to him!” Her beautiful eyes were full of reproach. “Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, in a low tone, “for a young man you are very unsympathetic.” “My position,” Aynesworth answered, “does not allow me the luxury of considering my personal feelings.” She looked hurt.