“I am afraid!” she murmured.

There was no time for more.  They were in the room, and Wingrave had risen to meet them.  Lady Ruth did not hesitate for a moment.  She crossed the room towards him with outstretched hands.  Aynesworth, who was standing a little on one side, watched their meeting with intense, though covert interest.  She had pushed back her veil, her head was a little upraised in a mute gesture of appeal.

She was pale to the lips, but her eyes were soft with hidden tears.  Wingrave stood stonily silent, like a figure of fate.  His hands remained by his sides.  Her welcome found no response from him.  She came to a standstill, and, swaying a little, stretched out her hand and steadied herself by grasping the back of a chair.

“Wingrave,” she murmured, and her voice was full of musical reproach.

Aynesworth turned to leave the room, but Wingrave, looking over her head, addressed him.

“You will remain here, Aynesworth,” he said.  “There are some papers at that desk which require sorting.”

Aynesworth hesitated.  He had caught the look on Lady Ruth’s face.

“If you could excuse me for half an hour, Sir Wingrave,” he began.

“I cannot spare you at present,” Wingrave interrupted.  “Kindly remain!”

Aynesworth had no alternative but to obey.  Wingrave handed a chair to Lady Ruth.  He was looking at her steadfastly.  There were no signs of any sort of emotion in his face.  Whatever their relations in the past might have been, it was hard to believe, from his present demeanor, that he felt any.

“Wingrave,” she said softly, “are you going to be unkind to me—­you, whom I have always thought of in my dreams as the most generous of men!  I have looked forward so much to seeing you again—­to knowing that you were free!  Don’t disappoint me!”

Wingrave laughed shortly, and Aynesworth bent closer over his work, with a gathering frown upon his forehead.  A mirthless laugh is never a pleasant sound.

“Disappoint you!” he repeated calmly.  “No!  I must try and avoid that!  You have been looking forward with so much joy to this meeting then?  I am flattered.”

She shivered a little.

“I have looked forward to it,” she answered, and her voice was dull and lifeless with pain.  “But you are not glad to see me,” she continued.  “There is no welcome in your face!  You are changed—­altogether!  Why did you send for me?”

“Listen!”

There was a moment’s silence.  Wingrave was standing upon the hearthrug, cold, passionless, Sphinx-like.  Lady Ruth was seated a few feet away, but her face was hidden.

“You owe me something!” he said.

“Owe—­you something?” she repeated vaguely.

“Do you deny it?” he said.

“Oh, no, no!” she declared with emotion.  “Not for a moment.”

“I want,” he said, “to give you an opportunity of repaying some portion of that debt!”