That is only a
matter of form nowadays at any rate. I have a hundred chaperons to
choose from. Society expects strange things from me. It is your
companionship I want. Your money is fascinating, of course. I should
like to see you spend it, to spend it with both hands. Don't be afraid
that we should be talked about. I am not Lady Ruth! I am Emily,
Marchioness of Westchester, and I live and choose my friends as I
please; will you be chief amongst them? Hush!"
For Wingrave it was providential. The loud chorus which had heralded
the upraising of the curtain died away. Melba's first few notes were
floating through the house. Silence was a necessity. The low passion
of the music rippled from the stage, through the senses and into the
hearts of many of the listeners. But Wingrave listened silent and
unmoved. He was even unconscious that the woman by his side was
watching him half anxiously every now and then.
The curtain descended amidst a thunder of applause. Wingrave turned
slowly towards his companion. And then there came a respite--a knock
at the door.
The Marchioness frowned, but Wingrave was already holding it open.
Lady Ruth, followed by an immaculate young guardsman, a relative of
her husband, was standing there.
"Mr. Wingrave!" she exclaimed softly, with upraised eyebrows, "why
have you contrived to render yourself invisible? We thought you were
alone, Emily," she continued, "and took pity on you.
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