He sat down and wrote a check, which he laid before her.

“You will have to endorse that,” he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.  “Your name at the back will do instead of a receipt.”

She sprang to her feet.

“Keep your money,” she cried.  “I will not touch it.  Please open the door for me!  I am going.”

“By all means—­if you wish it,” he answered undisturbed.  “At the same time, I am curious to know why you came here at all if you did not intend to accept it.”

She faced him, hot and angry.

“I did intend to accept it,” she declared.  “It is that or ruin.  But you are too cruel!  You make it—­impossible.”

“You surprise me,” he answered.  “I suppose you know best.”

“For heaven’s sake tell me,” she cried passionately, “what has come to you, what manner of a man are you?  You loved me once!  Now, even, after all these years, you cannot deny it.  You have gone out of your way to be with me, to be my companion wherever we are.  People are beginning to smile when they see us together.  I don’t mind.  I—­for God’s sake tell me, Wingrave!  Why do you do it?  Why do you lend me this money?  What can I do for you?  What do you want me to be?  Are you as cold as a stone?  Have you no heart—­no heart even for friendship!”

“I would not seek,” he answered, “to buy—­your friendship with a check!”

“But it is yours already,” she cried, holding out her hands.  “Give me a little kindness, Wingrave!  You make me feel and seem a perfect idiot.  Why, I’d rather you asked me anything that treated me like this.”

“I was under the impression,” Wingrave remarked, “that I was behaving rather well.  I wonder what would really satisfy you!”

“To have you behave as you are doing, and want to behave differently,” she cried.  “You are magnificent—­but it is because you are indifferent.  Will you kiss me, Wingrave?”

“With pleasure!” he answered.

She drew away from him quickly.

“Is it—­another woman?” she asked.  “The Marchioness?”

Her eagerness was almost painful.  He did not answer her at once.  She caught hold of his wrist and drew him towards her.  Her eyes searched his face.

“The Marchioness,” he said, “is a very beautiful woman.  She does not, however, affect the situation as between you and me.”

“If she dared!” Lady Ruth murmured.  “Wingrave, won’t you try and be friends with me?”

“I will try—­certainly,” he answered.  “You would be surprised, however, if you could realize the effect of a long period of enforced seclusion upon a man of my—­”

“Don’t!” she shrieked; “stop!”

“My temperament, I was about to say,” he concluded.  “There was a time when I am afraid I might have been tempted, under such circumstances as these, to forget that you were no longer free, to forget everything that except we were alone, and that you—­are as beautiful as ever you were!”