“Unless we can get the letters--or unless he should never return from America,” she answered. Barrington moved uneasily in his seat. He knew very well that some scheme was already forming in his wife’s brain. “If there is anything that I can do,” he said in a low tone, “don’t be afraid to tell me.” “There is one chance,” she answered, “a sort of forlorn hope, but you might try it. He has a secretary, a young man named Aynesworth. If he were on our side--” “Don’t you think,” Barrington interrupted, “that you would have more chance with him than I?” She laughed softly. “You foolish man,” she said, touching his fingers lightly. “I believe you think that I am irresistible!” “I have seen a good many lions tamed,” he reminded her. “Nonsense! Anyhow, there is one here who seems quite insensible. I have talked already with Mr. Aynesworth. He would not listen to me!” “Ah!” “Nevertheless,” she continued softy, “of one thing I am very sure. Every man is like every woman; he is vulnerable if you can discover the right spot and the right weapons. Mr. Aynesworth is not a woman’s man, but I fancy that he is ambitious. I thought that you might go and see him. He has rooms somewhere in Dorset Street.” He rose to his feet. A glance at the clock reminded him of the hour. “I will go,” he said. “I will do what I can. I think, dear,” he added, bending over her to say farewell, “that you should have been the man!” She laughed softly. “Am I such a failure as a woman, then?” she asked with a swift upward glance. “Don’t be foolish, Lumley. My woman will be here to dress me directly. You must really go away.” He strode down the stairs with tingling pulses, and drove to the House, where his speech, a little florid in its rhetoric, and verbose as became the man, was nevertheless a great success. “Quite a clever fellow, Barrington,” one of his acquaintances remarked, “when you get him away from his wife.” A FORLORN HOPE Aynesworth ceased tugging at the strap of his portmanteau, and rose slowly to his feet. A visitor had entered his rooms--apparently unannounced. “I must apologize,” the newcomer said, “for my intrusion. Your housekeeper, I presume it was, whom I saw below, told me to come up.” Aynesworth pushed forward a chair. “Won’t you sit down?” he said. “I believe that I am addressing Mr. Lumley Barrington.” Not altogether without embarrassment, Barrington seated himself. Something of his ordinary confidence of bearing and demeanor had certainly deserted him. His manner, too, was nervous. He had the air of being altogether ill at ease. “I must apologize further, Mr. Aynesworth,” he continued, “for an apparently ill-timed visit. You are, I see, on the eve of a journey.” “I am leaving for America tomorrow,” Aynesworth answered. “With Sir Wingrave Seton, I presume?” Barrington remarked. “Precisely,” Aynesworth answered. Barrington hesitated for a moment. Aynesworth was civil, but inquiring. He felt himself very awkwardly placed.