"A cupboard swept bare by time and
necessity."
She shook her head.
"Your life," she said, "is molded towards a purpose. What is it?"
"I must ask myself the question," he declared, "before I can tell you
the answer!"
"No," she said, "the necessity does not exist. Your reckless pursuit
of wealth, your return here, the use you are making of my husband and
me, are all means towards some end. Why not tell me?"
"Your imagination," he declared, "is running away with you."
"Are you our enemy?" she asked. "Is this seeming friendship of yours a
cloak to hide some scheme of yours to make us suffer? Or--" She drew a
little closer to him, and her eyes drooped.
"Or what?" he repeated.
"Is there a little left," she whispered, "of the old folly?"
"Why not?" he answered quietly. "I was very much in love with you."
"It is dead," she murmured. "I believe that you hate me now!"
Her voice was almost a caress. She was leaning a little towards him;
her eyes were seeking to draw his.
"Hate you! How impossible!" he said calmly. "You are still a beautiful
woman, you know, Ruth."
He turned and studied her critically. Lady Ruth raised her eyes once,
but dropped them at once. She felt herself growing paler. A spasm of
the old fear was upon her.
"Yes," he continued, "age has not touched you. You can still pour, if
you will, the magic drug into the wine of fools. By the bye, I must
not be selfish.
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