Wingrave felt his companion's grasp tighten upon his arm; a flash of
light upon the pale features and staring eyes of the young man a few
feet off, showed him to be in the act of intercepting them. Then, at a
sharp word from Wingrave, a policeman stretched out his arm. The young
man was pushed unceremoniously away. Wingrave's tall footman and the
policeman formed an impassable barrier--in a moment the electric
brougham was gliding down the street. Lady Ruth was leaning back
amongst the cushions, and the hand which fell suddenly upon Wingrave's
was cold as ice!
RICHARDSON TRIES AGAIN
"You saw--who that was?"
Lady Ruth's voice seemed to come from a greater distance. Wingrave
turned and looked at her with calm curiosity. She was leaning back in
the corner of the carriage, and she seemed somehow to have shrunk into
an unusual insignificance. Her eyes alone were clearly visible through
the semi-darkness--and the light which shone from their depths was the
light of fear.
"Yes," he answered slowly, "I believe that I recognized him. It was
the young man who persists in some strange hallucination as to a
certain Mademoiselle Violet."
"It was no hallucination," she answered. "You know that! I was
Mademoiselle Violet!"
He nodded.
"It amazes me," he said thoughtfully, "that you should have stooped to
such folly. That my demise would have been a relief to you I can, of
course, easily believe, but the means--they surely were not worthy of
your ingenuity.
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