dition of
Herrick. I should like to see them."

"By all means," the man answered, hurrying to the shelves. "You have,
also, a wonderful rare collection of manuscripts, purchased from the
Abbey St. Jouvain, and a unique Horace. If you will permit me."

Wingrave spent half an hour examining his treasures, leaving his
attendant astonished.

"A millionaire who understands!" he exclaimed softly as he resumed his
seat. "Miraculous!"

Wingrave passed into the hall, and summoned his major domo.

"Show me the ballroom," he ordered, "and the winter garden."

The little man in quiet black clothes--Wingrave abhorred liveries--led
him respectfully through rooms probably unequaled for magnificence in
England. He spoke of the exquisite work of French and Italian artists;
with a gesture almost of reverence he pointed out the carving in the
wonderful white ballroom.

Wingrave listened and watched with immovable face. Just as they had
completed their tour, Morrison approached.

"Mr. Lumley and Lady Ruth Barrington are in the library, sir," he
announced.

Wingrave nodded.

"I am coming at once," he said.

THE WAY OF PEACE

They awaited his coming in varying moods. Barrington was irritable and
restless, Lady Ruth gave no signs of any emotion whatever. She had the
air of a woman who had no longer fear or hope. Only her eyes were a
little weary.

Barrington was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets,
his eyes fixed upon his wife. Every now and then he glanced nervously
towards her.

"Of course," he said, "if he wants a settlement--well, there's an end of
all things. And I don't see why he shouldn't. He hasn't lent money out
of friendship. He hates me--always has done, and sometimes I wonder
whether he doesn't hate you too!"

Lady Ruth shivered a little. Her husband's words came to her with
peculiar brutality. It was as though he were blaming her for not having
proved more attractive to the man who held them in the hollow of his
hand.

"Doesn't it strike you," she murmured, "that a discussion like this
is scarcely in the best possible taste? We cannot surmise what he
wants--what he is going to do. Let us wait!"

The door opened and Wingrave entered. To Barrington, who greeted him
with nervous cordiality, he presented the same cold, impenetrable
appearance; Lady Ruth, with quicker perceptions, noticed at once the
change. She sat up in her chair eagerly. It was what she had prayed for,
this--but wa