were to take pen and paper and write down, at this
moment, my conclusions so far as I have been able to form any, I fancy
that they would make evil reading. Permit me!"

They stood for a few minutes before the long sideboard. A footman had
poured champagne into their glasses, and Lady Ruth talked easily enough
the jargon of the moment. But when they turned away, she moved slowly,
and her voice was almost a whisper.

"Tell me this," she said, "is he really as hard and cold as he seems?
You have lived with him now for four years. You should know that, at
least."

"I believe that he is," Aynesworth answered. "I can tell you that much,
at least, without breach of faith. So far as one who watches him can
tell, he lives for his own gratification--and his indulgence in it does
not, as a rule, make for the happiness of other people."

"Then what does he want with us?" she asked almost sharply. "I ask
myself that question until--I am terrified."

Aynesworth hesitated.

"It is very possible," he said, "that he is simply making use of you to
re-enter the world. Curiously enough, he has never seemed to care for
solitude. He makes numberless acquaintances. What pleasure he finds in
it I do not know, but he seldom avoids people. He may be simply making
use of you."

"What do you think yourself?"

"I cannot tell," Aynesworth answered. "Indeed I cannot tell."

She left him a little impatiently, and Aynesworth joined the outside
of the circle of men who had gathered round Wingrave. He was answering
their questions readily enough, if a little laconically. He was quite
aware that he occupied in society the one unique place to which princes
might not even aspire--there was something of divinity about his
millions, something of awe in the tone of the men with whom he talked.
Women pretended to be interested in him because of the romance of his
suddenly acquired wealth--the men did not trouble to deceive themselves
or anyone else. A break up of the group came when a certain great and
much-talked-about lady sent across an imperative message by her cavalier
for the moment. She desired that Mr. Wingrave should be presented to
her.

They passed down the room together a few moments later, the Marchioness
wonderfully dressed in a gown of strange turquoise blue, looking up at
her companion, and talking with somewhat unusual animation. Everyone
made remarks, of course--exchanged significant glances and unlovely
smiles. It was so like t