To both criticism and praise he was alike
indifferent. With a cynicism with seemed only to become more bitter he
pursued his undeviating and deliberate way.
One morning he met Lady Ruth on the pavement in Bond Street. She
pointed to the vacant seat in her landau.
"Get in, please, for a few minutes," she said. "I want to talk to you.
I will take you where you like."
They drove off in silence.
"You were not at the Wavertons' last night," he remarked.
"No!" she answered quietly. "I was not asked."
He glanced at her questioningly.
"I thought that you were so friendly," he said.
"I was," she answered. "Lady Waverton scarcely knows me now! It is the
beginning of the end, I suppose."
"You are a little enigmatical this morning," he declared.
"Oh, no! You understand me very well," she answered. "Everybody knows
that it is you who keep us going. Lumley has not got quite used to
taking your money. He has lost nearly all his ambition. Soon his day
will have gone by. People shrug their shoulders when they speak of us.
Two years ago the Wavertons were delighted to know me. Society seems
big, but it isn't. There are no end of little sets, one inside the
other. Two years ago, I was in the innermost, today I'm getting
towards the outside edge. Look at me! Do you see any change?"
He scrutinized her mercilessly in the cold morning light.
"You look older," he said, "and you have begun to use rouge, which is
a pity.
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