“I am afraid not, Sir Wingrave,” he said.  “I should not recommend you to try, at any rate for the present.”

“Give me your reasons,” was the cool response.

“I will do so with pleasure,” Rocke answered.  “About the time of the trial and immediately afterwards, there was a certain amount of sympathy for you.  People felt that you must have received a good deal of provocation, and there were several unexplained incidents which told in your favor.  Today, I should think that the feeling amongst those who remember the affair at all is rather the other way.  You heard, I believe, that Lady Ruth married Lumley Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“Barrington has been very successful at the Bar, and they say that he is certain of a judgeship before long.  His wife has backed him up well, they have entertained lavishly, and today I should think that she is one of the most popular hostesses in London.  In her earlier days, I used to hear that she was one of the very fast hunting set—­that was the time when you knew her.  I can assure you that if ever that was true, she is a completely altered woman today.  She is patroness of half a dozen great charitable schemes, she writes very clever articles in the Reviews on the Betterment of the Poor Question, and royalty itself visits at her house.”

“I see,” Wingrave said drily.  “I was not aware of these changes.”

“If ever,” Mr. Rocke continued, “people were inclined to look a little askance at her, that has all gone by.  Today she is one of the last women in the world of whom people would be likely to believe ill.”

Wingrave nodded slowly.

“I am very much obliged to you,” he said, “for this information.  You seem to have come here today, Mr. Rocke, with good intentions towards me.  Let me ask you to put yourself in my place.  I am barely forty years old, and I am rich.  I want to make the most of my life—­under the somewhat peculiar circumstances.  How and where should you live?”

“It depends a little upon your tastes, of course,” Rocke answered.  “You are a sportsman, are you not?”

“I am fond of sport,” Wingrave answered.  “At least I was.  At present I am not conscious of having any positive tastes.”

“I think,” Rocke continued, “that I should first of all change my name.  Then, without making any effort to come into touch with your old friends, I should seek acquaintance amongst the Bohemian world of London and Paris.  There I might myself, perhaps, be able to help you.  For sport, you might fish in Norway or Iceland, or shoot in Hungary; you could run to a yacht if you cared about it, and if you fancy big game, why, there’s all Africa before you.”

Wingrave listened, without changing a muscle of his face.

“Your programme,” he remarked, “presupposes that I have no ambitions beyond the pursuit of pleasure.”

Rocke shrugged his shoulders.  He was becoming more at his ease.  He felt that his advice was sound, that he was showing a most comprehensive grasp of the situation.