“Well,” she asked, “what does he want?”

“To see you,” Aynesworth answered, “tomorrow afternoon, either here or at his apartments in the Clarence Hotel.  He would prefer not to come here!”

“Are you his friend?” she asked.

“I am his secretary,” Aynesworth answered.

“You are in his confidence?”

“I only entered his service this morning,” he said.

“How much do you know,” she persisted, “of the unfortunate affair which led—­to his imprisonment?”

“I have been told the whole story,” Aynesworth answered.

Her eyes rested thoughtfully upon his.  It seemed as though she were trying to read in his face exactly what he meant by “the whole story.”

“Then,” she said, “do you think that anything but pain and unpleasantness can come of a meeting between us?”

“Lady Ruth,” Aynesworth answered, “it is not for me to form an opinion.  I am Sir Wingrave Seton’s secretary.”

“What is he going to do?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he answered.

“Is he going abroad?”

“I know nothing of his plans,” Aynesworth declared.  “What answer shall I take back to him?”

She looked at him earnestly.  Gradually her face was softening.  The frozen look was passing away.  The expression was coming back to her eyes.  She leaned a little towards him.  Her voice, although it was raised above a whisper, was full of feeling.

“Mr. Aynesworth,” she murmured, “I am afraid of Sir Wingrave Seton!”

Aynesworth said nothing.

“I was always a little afraid of him,” she continued, “even in the days when we were friendly.  He was so hard and unforgiving.  I know he thinks that he has a grievance against me.  He will have been brooding about it all these years.  I dare not see him!  I—­I am terrified!”

“If that is your answer,” Aynesworth said, “I will convey it to him!”

Her beautiful eyes were full of reproach.

“Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, in a low tone, “for a young man you are very unsympathetic.”

“My position,” Aynesworth answered, “does not allow me the luxury of considering my personal feelings.”

She looked hurt.

“I forgot,” she said, looking for a moment upon the floor; “you have probably been prejudiced against me.  You have heard only one story.  Listen”—­she raised her eyes suddenly, and leaned a little forward in her chair—­“some day, if you will come and see me when I am alone and we have time to spare, I will tell you the whole truth.  I will tell you exactly what happened!  You shall judge for yourself!”

Aynesworth bowed.

“In the meantime?”

Her eyes filled slowly with tears.  Aynesworth looked away.  He was miserably uncomfortable.

“You cannot be quite so hard-hearted as you try to seem, Mr. Aynesworth,” she said quietly.  “I want to ask you a question.  You must answer it?  You don’t know how much it means to me.  You are Sir Wingrave Seton’s secretary; you have access to all his papers.  Have you seen any letters of mine?  Do you know if he still has any in his possession?”