“I know very little about your investments--outside the mine,” Aynesworth answered. “They couldn’t very well approach a more ignorant person. Are you going to help Barrington to make a fortune?” Wingrave turned his head. There was a slight contraction of the forehead, an ominous glitter in his steel grey eyes. “I think,” he said, “you know that I am not likely to do that.” The two men did not meet again till late in the evening. Lady Ruth’s rooms were crowded for it was the beginning of the political season, and her parties were always popular. Nevertheless, she found time to beckon Wingrave to her before they had been in the room many minutes. “I want to talk to you,” she said a little abruptly. “You might have come this afternoon as you promised.” Lady Ruth was a wonderful woman. A well-known statesman had just asked a friend her age. “I don’t know,” was the answer, “but whatever it is, she doesn’t look it.” Tonight she was almost girlish. Her complexion was delicate and perfectly natural, the graceful lines of her figure suggested more the immaturity of youth than any undue slimness. She wore a wonderful collar of pearls around her long, shapely neck, but very little other jewelry. The touch of her fingers upon Wingrave’s coat sleeve was a carefully calculated thing. If he had thought of it, he could have felt the slight appealing pressure with which she led him towards one of the smaller rooms. “There are two chairs there,” she said. “Come and sit down. I have something to say to you.” THE SHADOW OF A FEAR For several minutes Lady Ruth said nothing. She was leaning back in the farthest corner of her chair, her head resting slightly upon her fingers, her eyes studying with a curious intentness the outline of Wingrave’s pale, hard face. He himself, either unconscious of, or indifferent to her close scrutiny, had simply the air of a man possessed of an inexhaustible fund of patience. “Wingrave,” she said quietly, “I think that the time has gone by when I was afraid of you.” He turned slightly towards her, but he did not speak. “I am possessed,” she continued, “at present, of a more womanly sentiment. I am curious.” “Ah!” he murmured, “you were always a little inclined that way.” “I am curious about you,” she continued. “You are, comparatively speaking, young, well-looking enough, and strong. Your hand is firmly planted upon the lever which moves the world. What are you going to do?” “That,” he said, “depends upon many things.” “You may be ambitious,” she remarked. “If so, you conceal it admirably. You may be devoting your powers to the consummation of vengeance against those who have treated you ill. There are no signs of that, either, at present.” “We have excellent authority,” he remarked, “for the statement that a considerable amount of satisfaction is derivable from the exercise of that sentiment.”