On his return, he made a simple but correct toilet, and
at half-past one he met Lady Ruth at Prince's Restaurant.
Lady Ruth's gown of dove color, with faint touches of blue, was
effective, and she knew it. Nevertheless, she was a little pale, and
her manner lacked that note of quiet languor which generally
characterized it. She talked rather more than usual, chattering idly
about the acquaintances to whom she was continually nodding and
bowing. Her face hardened a little as the Marchioness, on her way
through the room with a party of friends, stopped at their table.
The two women exchanged the necessary number of inanities, then the
Marchioness turned to Wingrave.
"You won't forget that you are dining with me tomorrow?"
Wingrave shook his head regretfully.
"I am sorry," he said, "but I have to go out of town. I have just
written you."
"What a bore," she remarked. "Business, of course!"
She nodded and passed on. Her farewell to Lady Ruth was distinctly
curt. Wingrave resumed his seat and his luncheon without remark.
"Hateful woman," Lady Ruth murmured.
"I thought you were friends," Wingrave remarked.
"Yes, we are," Lady Ruth assented, "the sort of friendship you men
don't know much about. You see a good deal of her, don't you?"
Wingrave raised his head and looked at Lady Ruth contemplatively.
"Why do you ask me that?" he asked.
"Curiosity!"
"I do," he remarked; "you should be grateful to her.
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