“I loved a woman once,” he answered.  “It was a long time ago, and it seems strange to me now.”

Lady Ruth lifted her eyes to his, and their lambent fires were suddenly rekindled.

“Love her again,” she murmured.  “What is past is past, but there are the days to come!  Perhaps the woman, too, is a little lonely.”

“I think not,” he answered calmly.  “The woman is married, she has lived with her husband more or less happily for a dozen years or so!  She is a little ambitious, a little fond of pleasure, but a leader of society, and, I am sure, a very reputable member of it.  To love her again would be as embarrassing to her—­as it would be difficult for me.  You, my dear Lady Ruth, I am convinced, would be the last to approve of it.”

“You mock me,” she murmured, bending her head.  “Is forgiveness also an impossibility?”

“I think,” he said, “that any sentiment whatever between those two would be singularly misplaced.  You spoke of Melba, I think!  She is singing in the further room.”

Lady Ruth rose up, still and pale.  There was fear in her eyes when she looked at him.

“Is it to be always like this, then?” she said.

“Ah!” he answered, “I am no prophet.  Who can tell what the days may bring?  In the meantime...”

The Marchioness was very much in request that evening, and she found time for only a few words with Wingrave.

“What have you been doing to poor Ruth?” she asked.  “I never saw her look so ill!”

“Indeed!” he answered, “I had not noticed it.”

“If I didn’t know her better,” she remarked, “I might begin to suspect her of a conscience.  Whose baby were you driving about this afternoon?  I didn’t know that your taste ran to ingenues to such an extent.  She’s sweetly pretty, but I don’t think it’s nice of you to flaunt her before us middle-aged people.  It’s enough to drive us to the rouge box.  Come to lunch tomorrow!”

“I shall be delighted,” he answered, and passed on.

An hour or so later, on his way out, he came upon Lady Ruth sitting a little forlornly in the hall.

“I wonder whether I dare ask you to drop me in Cadogan Square?” she asked.  “Is it much out of your way?  I am leaving a little earlier than I expected.”

“I shall be delighted,” he answered, offering his arm.

They passed out of the door and down the covered way into the street.  A few stragglers were loitering on the pavement, and one, a tall, thin young man in a long ulster, bent forwards as they came down the steps.  Wingrave felt his companion’s grasp tighten upon his arm; a flash of light upon the pale features and staring eyes of the young man a few feet off, showed him to be in the act of intercepting them.  Then, at a sharp word from Wingrave, a policeman stretched out his arm.  The young man was pushed unceremoniously away.  Wingrave’s tall footman and the policeman formed an impassable barrier—­in a moment the electric brougham was gliding down the street.  Lady Ruth was leaning back amongst the cushions, and the hand which fell suddenly upon Wingrave’s was cold as ice!