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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Men seldom know one another," she said softly. "You judge from the surface only." "Mine is the critical judgment of one who has studied him intimately," Aynesworth said. "Yours is the sentimental hope of one fascinated by what she does not understand. Wingrave is utterly heartless!" "That," she answered steadfastly, "I do not believe." "You do not because you will not," he declared.
He hesitated. "I'll take you a little way, if you like," he said. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. "If I like! And I've never been in one before! I'll fly up for my hat. I sha'n't be a moment." She was already halfway up the first flight of stairs, with a whirl of skirts and flying feet. Wingrave lit a cigarette and stood for a moment thoughtfully upon the pavement.
It was in one of these, standing motionless before a small marble statue of some forgotten Greek poet, that Wingrave found his visitor. She wore a plain serge traveling dress, and the pallor of her face, from which she had just lifted a voluminous veil, matched almost in color the gleaming white marble upon which she was gazing.
The young man was unmoved. "She is Mademoiselle Violet," he declared. The coupe drew up before the great block of buildings in which was Wingrave's flat. The footman threw open the door. "Come in with me," Wingrave said. "I have something more to say to you." "I would rather not," the young man muttered, and would have slouched off, but Wingrave caught him by the arm.
Even his tone was different. She felt that this man was a stranger, and a stranger to be feared. Aynesworth came over to her side and drew her away. "I have a cart outside," he said. "I am going to take you to Truro " Wingrave heard the gate close after them he heard the rumble of the cart in the road growing fainter and fainter.
Her voice was scarcely raised above a whisper. "That is Sir Wingrave with you?" "Yes!" Aynesworth answered. "It was he who saw you first!" She seemed to catch her breath. Her voice was still tremulous. "He is changed," she said. "I should not have recognized him." "They were the best ten years of his life," Aynesworth answered. "Think of how and in what surroundings he has been compelled to live.
It is the sort of place I wished to visit." In a corner of the room Aynesworth had recognized a friend and fellow clubman, who was acting at a neighboring theater. He was dining with some young ladies of his company, and beckoned to Aynesworth to come over and join them. He pointed them out to Wingrave. "Would you care to be introduced?" he asked.
"Can you take me to Sir Wingrave at once? I have such a busy afternoon that I was afraid at the last moment that I should be unable to come!" Aynesworth led her towards the lift. "Sir Wingrave is in his sitting room," he remarked. "It is only on the first floor." She directed her maid where to wait, and followed him. On the way down the corridor, he stole a glance at her.
Tell me the truth!" "The truth is already told," he answered. "Except my cook and her assistants, there is not a woman in the house!" Again she listened. She gave a little hoarse cry, and Wingrave started. Out in the hall a girl's clear laugh rang like a note of music to their ears. "You lie!" she cried fiercely. "You lie! I will know who she is." Suddenly the door was thrown open!
"You are the most original woman I ever met," he said quietly. "I neither wish to care nor be cared for by anyone. Go home to your husband, and tell him to buy Treadwells up to six." That same afternoon Wingrave met Aynesworth and cut him dead. Something in the younger man's appearance, though, perplexed him. Aynesworth certainly had not the air of a successful man.
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