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.
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