"I was not!" she said calmly.
There was a short silence. Barrington had the air of a man who has
received a shock.
"Ruth!" he exclaimed, glancing towards the door, and speaking almost
in a whisper. "Do you mean--that there are things which I have never
known?"
"Yes!" she answered. "I mean that he might, if he chose, do us
now--both of us--an immense amount of harm."
Barrington sat down at the end of the sofa. He knew his wife well
enough to understand that this was serious.
"Let us understand one another, Ruth," he said quietly. "I always
thought that you were a little severe on Wingrave at the trial! He may
bear you a grudge for that; it is very possible that he does. But what
can he do now? He had his chance to cross examine you, and he let it
go by."
"He has some letters of mine," Lady Ruth said slowly.
"Letters! Written before the trial?"
"Yes!"
"Why did he not make use of them there?"
"If he had," Lady Ruth said, with her eyes fixed upon the carpet, "the
sympathy would have been the other way. He would have got off with a
much lighter sentence, and you--would not have married me!"
"Good God!" Barrington muttered.
"You see," Lady Ruth continued, resting her hand upon her husband's
coat sleeve, "the thing happened all in a second. I had the check in
my hand when you and Sir William came crashing through that window,
and Sir William's eyes were upon me. The only way to save myself was
to repudiate it, and let Wingrave get out of the affair as well as he
could.
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