One by one he took them from the
dish, and ate deliberately. When he had finished, he made his way once
more towards where Wingrave lay. But before he reached the spot, he
stopped short. Something on the wall had attracted his attention. He
put his hand to his head and thought for a moment. It was an idea--a
glorious idea.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Lady Ruth's maid stepped back and surveyed her mistress ecstatically.
"Milady," she declared, "has never, no never, appeared more charming.
The gown, it is divine--and the coiffure! Milady will have no rivals."
Lady Ruth looked at herself long and earnestly in the glass. Her face
reflected none of the pleased interest with which her maid was still
regarding her. The latter grew a little anxious.
"Milady thinks herself a trifle pale, perhaps--a little more color?"
Lady Ruth set down the glass.
"No, thank you, Annette," she answered. "I shall do very well, I
suppose. Certainly, I won't have any rouge."
"Milady knows very well what becomes her," the woman answered
discreetly. "The pallor, it is the more distinguished. Milady cannot
fail to have all the success she desires!"
Lady Ruth smiled a little wearily. And at that moment, there came a
knock at the door. A servant entered.
"Someone wishes to speak to your ladyship on the telephone," the girl
announced.
"On the telephone, at this time of night?" Lady Ruth exclaimed.
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