SPREADING THE NETS
"By the bye," the Marchioness asked him, "have you a Christian name?"
"Sorry," Wingrave answered, "if I ever had, I've forgotten it."
"Then I must call you Wingrave," she remarked. "I hate calling anyone Iknow decently well Mr. anything."
"Charmed," Wingrave answered; "it isn't a bad name."
"It isn't," she admitted. "By the bye," she continued, looking at himcritically, "you are rather a surprising person, aren't you?"
"Glad you've found it out," Wingrave answered. "I always thought so."
"One associates all sorts of terrible things withmillionaires--especially African and American ones," she remarked. "Nowyou could pass anywhere for the ordinary sort of decent person."
Wingrave nodded.
"I was told the other day," he remarked reflectively, "that if I wouldonly cultivate two things, I might almost pass as a member of theEnglish aristocracy."
"What were they?" she asked rashly.
"Ignorance and impertinence," he answered.
The Marchioness was silent for a moment. There was a little more colorthan usual in her beautiful cheeks and a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
"You can go home, Mr. Wingrave," she said.
He rose to his feet imperturbably. The Marchioness stretched out a longwhite hand and gently forced him back again.
"You mustn't talk like that to me," she said quietly. "I am sensitive."
He bowed.
"A privilege, I believe, of your order," he remarked.
"Of course, if you want to quarrel--" she began.
"I don't," he assured her.
"Then be sensible! I want to talk to you."
"Sensible, alone with you!" he murmured. "I should establish a newrecord."
"You certainly aren't in the least like a millionaire," she declared,smiling at him, "you are more like a--"
"Please go on," he begged.
"I daren't," she answered, shaking her head.
"Then you aren't in the least like a marchioness," he declared. "Atleast, not like our American ideas of one."
She laughed outright.
"Bring your chair quite close to mine," she ordered, "I really want totalk to you."
He obeyed, and affected to be absorbed in the contemplation of therings on the hand which a great artist had called the most beautiful inEngland. She withdrew it a little peevishly, after a moment's pause.
"I want to talk about the Barringtons," she said. "Do you know that theyare practically ruined?"
"I heard that Barrington had been gambling on the Stock Exchange thelast few days," he answered.
"He has lost a great deal of money," she answered, "and they were almoston their last legs before. Are you going to set them straight again?"
"No idea," he answered. "I haven't been asked, for one thing."
"Ruth will ask you, of course," the Marchioness said impatiently. "Iexpect that she is waiting at your flat by now. I want to know whetheryou are going to do it."
The hand was again very close to his. Again Wingrave contemplated therings.
"I forgot that you were her friend, and are naturally anxious," heremarked.
"I am not her friend," the Marchioness answered, "and--I do not wish youto help them."
Wingrave was silent. The hand was insistent, and he held it for a momentlightly, and then let it go.
"Well, I don't know," he said doubtfully. "The Barringtons have beenvery hospitable to me."
"Rubbish!" the Marchioness answered. "You have done quite enough forthem already. Of course, you are a man--and you must choose. I am surethat you understand me."
He rose to his feet.
"I must think this out," he said. "The Barringtons have a sort of claimon me. I will let you know which way I decide."
She stood close to him, and her hand fell upon his shoulder.
"You are not going!" she exclaimed. "I have told them that I am at hometo no one, and I thought that you would stay and entertain me. Sit downagain, Wingrave!"
"Sorry," he answered, "I have a lot to do this afternoon. I camedirectly I had your note; but I have had to keep some other peoplewaiting."
"You are going to see Lady Ruth!"
"Not that I know of," he declared. "I have heard nothing from her. Bythe bye, I lost some money to you at bridge the other evening. How muchwas it? Do you remember?"
She looked at him for a second, and turned away.
"Do you really want to know?" she asked.
"If you please. Put the amount down on a piece of paper, and then Isha'n't forget it."
She crossed the room to her desk, and returned with a folded envelope.He stuffed it into his waistcoat pocket.
"I shall be at the opera tonight," she said. "Will you come there andtell me what--which you decide?"
"With pleasure," he answered, "if I can get away from a stupid dinner intime."
She let him go reluctantly. Afterwards she passed into her own room,and stood looking at herself in the pier glass. Artists and the societypapers called her the most beautiful woman in England; fashion hadplaced her upon such a pinnacle that men counted it a distinction to beseen speaking to her. She dealt out her smiles and favors like Royaltyitself; she had never once known a rebuff. This afternoon she felt thatshe had received one. Had she been too cold or too forward? Perhaps shehad underestimated the man himself. She rang for her maid.
"Celeste," she said, "I shall wear my new Paquin gown tonight at theopera, and my pearls."
"Very good, your ladyship."
"And I am going to lie down for an hour or two now. Don't let me bedisturbed. I want to look my best tonight. You understand?"
"Perfectly, your ladyship."
The Marchioness rested, but she did not sleep. She was thinking ofWingrave!
It was not Lady Ruth, but her husband, who was waiting to see Wingraveon his return. Aynesworth was talking to him, but at once withdrew.Wingrave nodded with slightly upraised eyebrows. He never shook handswith Barrington.
"You wanted to see me?" he inquired, carelessly turning over a littlepile of letters.
Barrington was ill at ease. He hated himself and he hated his errand.
"Yes, for a moment or two--if you're not busy," he said. "May I smoke?I'm nervous this morning."
"Help yourself," Wingrave said shortly. "Cigarettes and cigars on thesideboard. Touch the bell if you'll take anything to drink."
"Thanks--Aynesworth gave me a brandy and soda. Capital fellow,Aynesworth!"
"Have another," Wingrave said shortly.
He crossed the room to the sideboard. Wingrave glanced up from hisletters, and smiled coldly as he saw the shaking fingers.
"I don't often indulge like this," Barrington said, turning away fromthe sideboard with a tumbler already empty in his hands. "The fact is,I've had rather a rude knock, and Ruth thought I'd better come and seeyou."
Wingrave remained a study of impassivity. His guest's whole demeanor,his uneasy words and nervous glances were an unspoken appeal to behelped out in what he had come to say. And Wingrave knew very wellwhat it was. Nevertheless, he remained silent--politely questioning.Barrington sat down a little heavily. He was not so carefully dressedas usual; he looked older, his appearance lacked altogether that air ofbuoyant prosperity which was wont to inspire his friends and creditorswith confidence.
"I've been a fool, Wingrave," he said. "You showed me how to make alittle money a few weeks ago, and it seemed so easy that I couldn'tresist having a try by myself, only on rather a larger scale. Ilost! Then I went in again to pull myself round, and I lost again. Ilost--more than I can easily raise before settlement."
"I am sorry," Wingrave said politely. "It is very unwise to meddle inthings you know so little about."
For a moment the worm turned. Barrington rose to his feet, and witha deep flush upon his cheeks moved towards the door. But his spark ofgenuine feeling died out almost as soon as it had been kindled. Outsidethat door was ruin; within, as he ver
y well knew, lay his only chance ofsalvation. He set down his hat, and turned round.
"Wingrave," he said, "will you lend me some money?"
Wingrave looked at him with upraised eyebrows.
"I," he remarked, "lend you money? Why should I?"
"Heaven knows," Barrington answered. "It is you who have chosen toseek us out. You have forced upon us something which has at least thesemblance of friendship. There is no one else whom I could ask. It isn'tonly this damned Stock Exchange transaction. Everything has gone wrongwith me for years. If I could have kept going till next July, I shouldhave been all right. I have made a little success in the House, and Iam promised a place in the next government. I know it seems queer thatI should be asking you, but it is that--or ruin. Now you know how thingsare with me."
"You are making," Wingrave said quietly, "a mistake. I have notpretended or given the slightest evidence of any friendship foryourself."
Barrington looked at him with slowly mounting color.
"You mean--"
"Precisely," Wingrave interrupted. "I do not know what I might or mightnot do for Lady Ruth. I have not considered the subject. It has not, infact, been presented to me."
"It is the same thing," Barrington declared hoarsely.
"Pardon me--it is not," Wingrave answered.
"What I ask you to do," Barrington said, "I ask on behalf of my wife."
"As an ambassador," Wingrave said coldly, "you are not acceptable tome. It is a matter which I could only discuss with Lady Ruth herself. IfLady Ruth has anything to say to me, I will hear it."
Barrington stood quite still for several moments. The veins on hisforehead stood out like tightly drawn cords, his breath came withdifficulty. The light in his eyes, as he looked at Wingrave, was almostmurderous.
"If Lady Ruth desires to see me," Wingrave remarked slowly, "I shall behere at nine o'clock this evening. Tomorrow my movements are uncertain.You will excuse me if I hurry you away now. I have an engagement whichis already overdue."
Barrington took up his hat and left the room without a word. Wingraveremained in his chair. His eyes followed the departing figure of hisvisitor. When he was absolutely sure that he was alone, he covered hisface with one hand. His engagement seemed to have been with his thoughtsfor he did not stir for nearly an hour later. Then he rang the bell forAynesworth.