“I consent,” she said, with a little shudder. “I am going now.” “You are a sensible woman,” he answered. “Aynesworth, show Lady Ruth to her carriage.” She rose to her feet. Hung from her neck by a chain of fine gold, was a large Chinchilla muff. She stood before him, and her hands had sought its shelter. Timidly she withdrew one. “Will you shake hands with me, Wingrave?” she asked timidly. He shook his head. “Forgive me,” he said; “I may better my manners in America, but a present I cannot.” She passed out of the room. Aynesworth followed, closing the door behind them. In the corridor she stumbled, and caught at his arm for support. “Don’t speak to me,” she gasped. “Take me where I can sit down.” He found her a quiet corner in the drawing room. She sat perfectly still for nearly five minutes, with her eyes closed. Then she opened them, and looked at her companion. “Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, “are you so poor that you must serve a man like that?” He shook his head. “It is not poverty,” he answered. “I knew his history, and I am interested in him!” “You write novels, don’t you?” she asked. “I try,” he answered. “His story fascinated me. He stands today in a unique position to life. I want to see how he will come out of it.” “You knew his story--the truth?” “Everything,” he answered. “I heard it from a journalist who was in court, his only friend, the only man who knew.” “Where is he now?” “On his way to Japan.” She drew a little breath between her teeth. “There were rumors,” she said. “It was hard for me at first, but I lived them down. I was very young then. I ought not to have accepted his sacrifice. I wish to heaven I had not. I wish that I had faced the scandal then. It is worse to be in the power of a man like this today! Mr. Aynesworth!” “Lady Ruth!” “Do you think that he has the right to keep those letters?” “I cannot answer that question.” “Will you be my friend?” “So far as I can--in accordance with my obligations to my employer!” She tried him no further then, but rose and walked slowly out of the room. He found her maid, and saw them to their carriage. Then he returned to the sitting room. Wingrave was smoking a cigarette. “I am trying the humanizing influence,” he remarked. “Got rid of her ladyship?” “Lady Ruth has just gone,” Aynesworth answered. “Have you promised to steal the letters yet?” he inquired. “Not yet!” “Her dainty ladyship has not bid high enough, I suppose,” he continued. “Don’t be afraid to open your mouth. There’s another woman there besides the Lady Ruth Barrington, who opens bazaars, and patronizes charity, and entertains Royalty. Ask what you want and she’ll pay!” “What a brute you are!” Aynesworth exclaimed involuntarily.