There was no longer any resemblance between the
pallor of her cheeks and the pallor of the statue.
"Lady Ruth," Wingrave said quietly, "I do not understand what has
procured for me the pleasure of this unexpected visit."
She swayed a little towards him. Her head was thrown back, all the
silent passion of the inexpressible, the hidden secondary forces of
nature, was blazing out of her eyes, pleading with him in the broken
music of her tone.
"You do not understand," she repeated. "Ah, no! But can I make you
understand? Will you listen to me for once as a human being? Will you
remember that you are a man, and I a woman pleading for a little
mercy--a little kindness?"
Wingrave moved a step further back.
"Permit me," he said, "to offer you a chair."
She sank into it--speechless for a moment. Wingrave stood over her,
leaning slightly against the corner of the bookcase.
"I trust," he said, "that you will explain what all this means. If it
is my help which you require--"
Her hands flashed out towards him--a gesture almost of horror.
"Don't," she begged, "you know that it is not that! You know very well
that it is not. Why do you torture me?"
"I can only ask you," he said, "to explain."
She commenced talking quickly. Her sentences came in little gasps.
"You wanted revenge--not in the ordinary way. You had brooded over it
too long. You understood too well. Once it was I who sought to revenge
myself on you because you would not listen to me! You hurt my pride.
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