"
"You certainly aren't in the least like a millionaire," she declared,
smiling at him, "you are more like a--"
"Please go on," he begged.
"I daren't," she answered, shaking her head.
"Then you aren't in the least like a marchioness," he declared. "At
least, not like our American ideas of one."
She laughed outright.
"Bring your chair quite close to mine," she ordered, "I really want to
talk to you."
He obeyed, and affected to be absorbed in the contemplation of the
rings on the hand which a great artist had called the most beautiful
in England. She withdrew it a little peevishly, after a moment's
pause.
"I want to talk about the Barringtons," she said. "Do you know that
they are practically ruined?"
"I heard that Barrington had been gambling on the Stock Exchange the
last few days," he answered.
"He has lost a great deal of money," she answered, "and they were
almost on their last legs before. Are you going to set them straight
again?"
"No idea," he answered. "I haven't been asked, for one thing."
"Ruth will ask you, of course," the Marchioness said impatiently. "I
expect that she is waiting at your flat by now. I want to know whether
you are going to do it."
The hand was again very close to his. Again Wingrave contemplated the
rings.
"I forgot that you were her friend, and are naturally anxious," he
remarked.
"I am not her friend," the Marchioness answered, "and--I do not wish
you to help them.
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