“If I had thought of the Marconigram,” Aynesworth said, “I am sure I should have done it.  But as a matter of fact, I did not.”

“Just as well, so far as our relations are concerned,” Wingrave said coldly.  “I did manage to make poor men of a few brokers in New York, but my best coup went wrong.  That boy would have blown his brains out, I believe, if some meddling idiot hadn’t found him all that money at the last moment.  I have had a few smaller successes, of course, and there is this affair of Lady Ruth and her estimable husband.  You know that he came to borrow money of me, I suppose?”

“I guessed it,” Aynesworth answered.  “You should be modern in your revenge and lend it to him.”

Wingrave smiled coldly.

“I fancy,” he said, “that Lumley Barrington will find my revenge modern enough.  I may lend the money they need—­but it will be to Lady Ruth!  I told her husband so a few minutes ago.  I told him to send his wife to me.  He has gone to tell her now!”

“I wonder,” Aynesworth remarked, “that he did not thrash you—­or try to.”

Again Wingrave’s lips parted.

“Moral deterioration has set in already,” he remarked.  “When he pays his bills with my money, he will lose the little he has left of his self-respect.”

Aynesworth turned abruptly away.  He was strongly tempted to say things which would have ended his connection with Wingrave, and as yet he was not ready to leave.  For the sake of a digression, he took up a check book from the table.

“There are three checks,” he remarked, “which I cannot trace.  One for ten thousand pounds, another for five, and a third for a thousand pounds.  What account shall I put them to?”

“Private drawing account,” Wingrave answered.  “They represent a small speculation.  By the bye, you’d better go and ring up Walters.”

“Do you wish the particulars entered in your sundry investment book?” Aynesworth asked.

Wingrave smiled grimly.

“I think not,” he answered.  “You can put them to drawing account.  If you want me again this evening, I shall dine at the Cafe Royal at eight o’clock, and shall return here at five minutes to nine.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

Lady Ruth was punctual.  At a few minutes past nine, Morrison announced that a lady had called to see Mr. Wingrave by appointment.

“You can show her in,” Wingrave said.  “See that we are not disturbed.”

Lady Ruth was scarcely herself.  She was dressed in a high-necked muslin gown, and she wore a hat and veil, which somewhat obscured her features.  The latter she raised, however, as she accepted the chair which Wingrave had placed for her.  He saw then that she was pale, and her manner betrayed an altogether unfamiliar nervousness.  She avoided his eyes.

“Did you expect me?” she asked.

“Yes!” he answered, “I thought that you would come.”