Barrington stood quite still for several moments. The veins on his forehead stood out like tightly drawn cords, his breath came with difficulty. The light in his eyes, as he looked at Wingrave, was almost murderous. “If Lady Ruth desires to see me,” Wingrave remarked slowly, “I shall be here at nine o’clock this evening. Tomorrow my movements are uncertain. You will excuse me if I hurry you away now. I have an engagement which is already overdue.” Barrington took up his hat and left the room without a word. Wingrave remained in his chair. His eyes followed the departing figure of his visitor. When he was absolutely sure that he was alone, he covered his face with one hand. His engagement seemed to have been with his thoughts for he did not stir for nearly an hour later. Then he rang the bell for Aynesworth. IN THE TOILS Wingrave did not speak for several moments after Aynesworth had entered the room. He had an engagement book before him and seemed to be deep in its contents. When at last he looked up, his forehead was furrowed with thought, and he had the weary air of a man who has been indulging in unprofitable memories. “Aynesworth,” he said, “be so good as to ring up Walters and excuse me from dining with him tonight.” Aynesworth nodded. “Any particular form of excuse?” he asked. “No! Say that I have an unavoidable engagement. I will see him tomorrow morning.” “Anything else?” Aynesworth asked, preparing to leave the room. “No! You might see that I have no visitors this evening. Lady Ruth is coming here at nine o’clock.” “Lady Ruth is coming here,” Aynesworth repeated in a colorless tone. “Alone?” “Yes.” Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders, but made no remark. He turned towards the door, but Wingrave called him back. “Your expression, Aynesworth,” he said, “interests me. Am I or the lady in question responsible for it?” “I am sorry for Lady Ruth,” Aynesworth said. “I think that I am sorry, too, for her husband.” “Why? She is coming of her own free will.” “There are different methods of compulsion,” Aynesworth answered. Wingrave regarded him thoughtfully. “That,” he said, “is true. But I still do not understand why you are sorry for her.” “Because,” Aynesworth said, “I know the history of a certain event, and I know you. It is, I suppose, for this end that you made use of them.” Wingrave nodded. “Quite right,” he declared. “I think that the time is not far off when that dear lady and I can cry quits. This time, too, I see nothing to impair my satisfaction at the probable finale. In various other cases, as you might remember, I have not been entirely successful.” “It depends,” Aynesworth remarked drily, “upon what you term success.” Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.