was one of them.

"This," she remarked quietly, handing it over to her husband, "may
interest you."

He adjusted his eye glasses and read it aloud:--

"Dear Lady Ruth,--I am leaving London today for several weeks. With the
usual inconsistency of the person to whom life is by no means a valuable
asset, I am obeying the orders of my physician. I regret, therefore,
that I cannot have the pleasure of entertaining your husband and
yourself during Cowes week. The yacht, however, is entirely at your
disposal, and I have written Captain Masterton to that effect. Pray
extend your cruise, if you feel inclined to.--I remain, yours sincerely,
W."

Mr. Barrington looked at his wife inquiringly.

"That seems to me entirely satisfactory, Ruth," he said. "I think that
he might have added a word or two of acknowledgment for what you did for
him. There is no doubt that, but for your promptness, things might have
gone much worse."

"Yes," Lady Ruth said slowly, "I think that he might have added a few
words."

Her husband regarded her critically.

"I am afraid, dear," he said, "that all this anxiety has knocked you up
a little. You are not looking well."

"I am tired," she answered calmly. "It has been a long season. I should
like to do what Wingrave has done--go away somewhere and rest."

Barrington laid his hand upon hers affectionately. It seemed to him that
the rings hung a little loosely upon the thin, white fingers. She was
pale, too, and her eyes were weary. He did not notice that, as soon as
she could, she drew her hand away.

"Pon my word," he said, "I wish we could go off somewhere by ourselves.
But with Wingrave's yacht to entertain on, we must do something for a
few of the people. I don't suppose he minds whom we ask, or how many."

"No!" she answered, "I do not suppose he cares."

"It is most opportune," Barrington declared. "I wanted particularly to
do something for the Hendersons. He seems very well disposed, and his
influence means everything just now. Really, Ruth, I believe we are
going to pull through after all."

She smiled a little wearily.

"Do you think so, Lumley?"

"I am sure of it, Ruth," he answered. "I only wish I could see you a
little more cheerful. Surely you can't still--be afraid of Wingrave," he
added, glancing uneasily across the table.

She looked him in the eyes.

"That is exactly what I am," she answered. "I am afraid of him. I have
always been afraid. Nothing has happened to c