“I think,” he said coldly, “that you are aware of what my feelings and desired course of action have been with regard to those of my fellow creatures with whom I have happened to come into contact. It seems to me that I have been a trifle unfortunate in several instances.” “As for instance?” Aynesworth asked. “Well, to take a few cases only,” Wingrave continued, “there was the child down at Tredowen whom you were so anxious for me to befriend. Of course, I declined to do anything of the sort, and she ought, by rights, to have gone to some charitable institution, founded and supported by fools, and eventually become, perhaps, a domestic servant. Instead of which, some relation of her father turns up and provides for her lavishly. You must admit that that was unfortunate.” “It depends upon the point of view,” Aynesworth remarked drily. “Personally, I considered it a most fortunate occurrence.” “Naturally,” Wingrave agreed. “But then you are a sentimentalist. You like to see people happy, and you would even help to make them so if you could without any personal inconvenience. I am at the other pole. If I could collect humanity into one sentient force, I would set my heel upon it without hesitation. I try to do what I can with the atoms, but I have not the best of fortune. There was Mrs. Travers, now! There I should have been successful beyond a doubt if some busybody hadn’t sent that cable to her husband. I wonder if you were idiot enough to do that, Aynesworth?” “If I had thought of the Marconigram,” Aynesworth said, “I am sure I should have done it. But as a matter of fact, I did not.” “Just as well, so far as our relations are concerned,” Wingrave said coldly. “I did manage to make poor men of a few brokers in New York, but my best coup went wrong. That boy would have blown his brains out, I believe, if some meddling idiot hadn’t found him all that money at the last moment. I have had a few smaller successes, of course, and there is this affair of Lady Ruth and her estimable husband. You know that he came to borrow money of me, I suppose?” “I guessed it,” Aynesworth answered. “You should be modern in your revenge and lend it to him.” Wingrave smiled coldly. “I fancy,” he said, “that Lumley Barrington will find my revenge modern enough. I may lend the money they need--but it will be to Lady Ruth! I told her husband so a few minutes ago. I told him to send his wife to me. He has gone to tell her now!” “I wonder,” Aynesworth remarked, “that he did not thrash you--or try to.” Again Wingrave’s lips parted. “Moral deterioration has set in already,” he remarked. “When he pays his bills with my money, he will lose the little he has left of his self-respect.” Aynesworth turned abruptly away. He was strongly tempted to say things which would have ended his connection with Wingrave, and as yet he was not ready to leave. For the sake of a digression, he took up a check book from the table.