“There are three checks,” he remarked, “which I cannot trace. One for ten thousand pounds, another for five, and a third for a thousand pounds. What account shall I put them to?” “Private drawing account,” Wingrave answered. “They represent a small speculation. By the bye, you’d better go and ring up Walters.” “Do you wish the particulars entered in your sundry investment book?” Aynesworth asked. Wingrave smiled grimly. “I think not,” he answered. “You can put them to drawing account. If you want me again this evening, I shall dine at the Cafe Royal at eight o’clock, and shall return here at five minutes to nine.” . . . . . . . . . . . Lady Ruth was punctual. At a few minutes past nine, Morrison announced that a lady had called to see Mr. Wingrave by appointment. “You can show her in,” Wingrave said. “See that we are not disturbed.” Lady Ruth was scarcely herself. She was dressed in a high-necked muslin gown, and she wore a hat and veil, which somewhat obscured her features. The latter she raised, however, as she accepted the chair which Wingrave had placed for her. He saw then that she was pale, and her manner betrayed an altogether unfamiliar nervousness. She avoided his eyes. “Did you expect me?” she asked. “Yes!” he answered, “I thought that you would come.” Her foot, long and slender, beat impatiently upon the ground. She looked up at him once, but immediately withdrew her eyes. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked in a low tone. “My dear Lady Ruth!” he protested. “If you want to play at being friends,” she said, “for heaven’s sake call me Ruth. You found it easy enough once.” “You are very kind,” he answered. “Ruth, by all means.” “Now will you answer my question?” she said. “Do you mean--to help us?” “Us--no!” he answered; “you--perhaps yes!” he added. Then she looked at him, and found herself puzzled by the perfect impassivity of his features. Surely he would drop the mask now. He had insisted upon her coming! “Perhaps?” she repeated. “What then--are the conditions?”