"Yes, for a moment or two--if you're not busy," he said. "May I smoke?
I'm nervous this morning."
"Help yourself," Wingrave said shortly. "Cigarettes and cigars on the
sideboard. Touch the bell if you'll take anything to drink."
"Thanks--Aynesworth gave me a brandy and soda. Capital fellow,
Aynesworth!"
"Have another," Wingrave said shortly.
He crossed the room to the sideboard. Wingrave glanced up from his
letters, and smiled coldly as he saw the shaking fingers.
"I don't often indulge like this," Barrington said, turning away from
the sideboard with a tumbler already empty in his hands. "The fact is,
I've had rather a rude knock, and Ruth thought I'd better come and see
you."
Wingrave remained a study of impassivity. His guest's whole demeanor,
his uneasy words and nervous glances were an unspoken appeal to be
helped out in what he had come to say. And Wingrave knew very well
what it was. Nevertheless, he remained silent--politely questioning.
Barrington sat down a little heavily. He was not so carefully dressed
as usual; he looked older, his appearance lacked altogether that air
of buoyant prosperity which was wont to inspire his friends and
creditors with confidence.
"I've been a fool, Wingrave," he said. "You showed me how to make a
little money a few weeks ago, and it seemed so easy that I couldn't
resist having a try by myself, only on rather a larger scale. I lost!
Then I went in again to pull myself round, and I lost again.
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