Ruth waited for some answer from Wilding that might suggest he was indifferent whether he went to Newlington's or not; but he spoke no word as he turned to lead the way above-stairs to the indifferent parlour which with the adjoining bedroom constituted Mr. Trenchard's lodging--and his own, for the time being.
Having assured herself that the curtains were closely drawn, she put by her cloak and hood, and stood revealed to him in the light of the three candles, burning in a branch upon the bare oak table, dazzlingly beautiful in her gown of ivory-white.
He stood apart, cogitating her with glowing eyes, the faintest smile between question and pleasure hovering about his thin mouth. He had closed the door, and stood in silence waiting for her to make known to him her pleasure.
"Mr. Wilding..." she began, and straightway he interrupted her.
"But a moment since you did remind me that I have the honour to be your husband," he said with grave humour. "Why seek now to overcloud that fact? I mind me that the last time we met you called me by another name. But it may be," he added as an afterthought, "you are of opinion that I have broken faith with you."
"Broken faith? As how?"
"So!" he said, and sighed. "My words were of so little account that they have been, I see, forgotten. Yet, so that I remember them, that is what chiefly matters. I promised then--or seemed to promise--that I would make a widow of you, who had made a wife of you against your will. It has not happened yet. Do not despair. This Monmouth quarrel is not yet fought out. Hope on, my Ruth."
She looked at him with eyes wide open--lustrous eyes of sapphire in a face of ivory. A faint smile parted her lips, the reflection of the thought in her mind that had she, indeed, been eager for his death she would not be with him at this moment; had she desired it, how easy would her course have been.
"You do me wrong to bid me hope for that," she answered him, her tones level. "I do not wish the death of any man, unless..." She paused; her truthfulness urged her too far.
"Unless?" said he, brows raised, polite interest on his face.
"Unless it be His Grace of Monmouth."
He considered her with suddenly narrowed eyes. "You have not by chance sought me to talk politics?" said he. "Or..." and he suddenly caught his breath, his nostrils dilating with rage at the bare thought that leapt into his mind. Had Monmouth, the notorious libertine, been to Lupton House and persecuted her with his addresses? "Is it that you are acquainted with His Grace?" he asked.