“You are!” she murmured.  “I have no one to whom I dare speak—­of this.  I dare not mention his name to my husband.  It was my evidence which convicted him, and I can see, I know, that he is vindictive.  And he has those letters!  Oh!  If I could only get them back?”

Her voice trembled with an appeal whispered but passionate.  It was wonderful how musical and yet how softly spoken her words were.  They were like live things, and the few feet of darkened space through which they had passed seemed charged with magnetic influence.

“Mr. Aynesworth!”

He turned and faced her.

“Can’t you help me?”

“I cannot, Lady Ruth.”

The electric bell rang softly from outside, and the orchestra commenced to play.  Lady Ruth rose and looked at herself in the mirror.  Then she turned and smiled at her visitor.  The pallor of her face was no longer unnatural.  She was a wonderful woman.

“I shall come tomorrow,” she said.  “Shall I see you?”

“That,” he answered, “depends upon Sir Wingrave.”

She made a little grimace as she dismissed him.  Wingrave did not speak to his companion for some time after he had resumed his seat.  Then he inclined his head towards him.

“Have you come to terms with her ladyship?” he asked drily.

“Not yet!” Aynesworth answered.

“You can name your own price,” he continued.  “She will pay!  Don’t be afraid of making her bid up.  She has a good deal at stake!”

Aynesworth made no reply.  He was thinking how easy it would be to hate this man!

“Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?”

Aynesworth was waiting in the hall on the following afternoon when Lady Ruth arrived.  He had half expected that she would drive up to the side door in a hansom, would wear a thick veil, and adopt the other appurtenances of a clandestine meeting.  But Lady Ruth was much too clever a woman for anything of the sort.  She descended at the great front entrance from her own electric coupe, and swept into the hotel followed by her maid.  She stopped to speak to the manager of the hotel, who knew her from her visits to the world-famous restaurant, and she asked at once for Sir Wingrave Seton.  Then she saw Aynesworth, and crossed the hall with outstretched hand.

“How nice of you to be here,” she murmured.  “Can you take me to Sir Wingrave at once?  I have such a busy afternoon that I was afraid at the last moment that I should be unable to come!”

Aynesworth led her towards the lift.

“Sir Wingrave is in his sitting room,” he remarked.  “It is only on the first floor.”

She directed her maid where to wait, and followed him.  On the way down the corridor, he stole a glance at her.  She was a little pale, and he could see that she had nerved herself to this interview with a great effort.  As he knocked at the door, her great eyes were raised for a moment to his, and they were like the eyes of a frightened child.