"You had better go home in the car," Wingarde said. "It is waiting for
me in Fenwick Street. Mr. Neville, perhaps you will be good enough to
accompany my wife. Your animal is tame enough now. Your man will have no
difficulty with it, if he is to be found."
"Ah! Exactly!" Archie said.
He looked round vaguely. Nina was leaning on his arm. His man was
nowhere to be seen, having some minutes since abandoned a situation
which he had discovered to be beyond his powers to deal with.
A crowd surrounded them, and a man at his elbow informed him that his
driver had thrown down the reins and jumped off before they were clear
of the railway bridge. Archie swallowed the comment upon this discreet
behaviour, that rose to his lips.
A moment later Wingarde, who had seemed on the point of departure,
pushed his way hastily-back to him.
"Never mind the hansom!" he said. "I believe your man has been hurt. I
will see to it. Just take my wife out of this, will you? I want to see
if that boy is alive or dead."
He had turned again with the words, forcing his way through the crowd.
Nina pressed after him. She was as white as the dress she wore. There
was no holding her back. Archie could only accompany her.
It was difficult to get through the gathering throng. When finally they
succeeded in doing so, they found Wingarde stooping over the unconscious
victim of the accident. He had satisfied himself that the boy lived, and
was feeling rapidly for broken bones.
Becoming aware of Nina's presence, he looked up with a frown. Then,
seeing her piteous face, he refrained from uttering the curt rebuke that
had risen to his lips.
"I want you to go home," he said. "I will do all that is necessary here.
Neville, take my wife home! The car is close at hand in Fenwick Street."
"He isn't dead?" faltered Nina shakily.
"No--certainly not." Wingarde's voice was confident.
He turned from her to speak to a policeman; and Nina yielded to Archie's
hand on her arm. She was more upset than she had realized.
Neither of them spoke during the drive westwards. Archie scowled a good
deal, but he gave no vent to his feelings.
Arrived in Crofton Square, he would have taken his leave of her. But
Nina would not hear of this.
"Please stay till Hereford comes!" she entreated. "You will want to know
what he has done. Besides, I want you."
Archie yielded to pressure. No word was spoken by either in praise or
admiration of the man who had risked his life to save theirs. Somehow it
was a difficult subject between them.
Nearly two hours later Wingarde arrived on foot. He reported Archie's
man only slightly the worse for his adventure.
"It ought to have killed him," he said briefly. "But men of that sort
never are killed. I told him to drive back to stables. The horse was as
quiet as a lamb."
"And the boy?" Nina asked eagerly.
"Oh, the boy!" Wingarde said. "His case is more serious. He was taken to
the Wade Home. I went with him. I happen to know Wade."
"That's the West End physician," said Archie. "He calls himself Wade, I
know, when he wants to be _incog_."
"That's the man," said Wingarde. "But I am not acquainted with him as
the West End physician. He is purely a City acquaintance. Oh, are you
going, Neville? We shall see you again, I suppose?"
It was not cordially spoken. Archie coloured and glanced at Nina.
"You are coming to dinner, aren't you?" she said at once. "Please do! We
shall be alone. And you promised, didn't you?"
Archie hesitated for a moment. Wingarde was looking at him piercingly.
"I hope you won't allow my presence to interfere with any plans you may
have made for to-night's amusement," he remarked. "I shall be obliged to
go out myself after dinner."
Archie drew himself up. Wingarde's tone stung.
"You are very good," he said stiffly. "What do you say, Nina? Do you
feel up to the theatre?"
Nina's colour also was very high. But her eyes looked softer than usual.
She turned to her husband.
"Couldn't you come, too, for once, Hereford?" she asked. "We were
thinking of the theatre. It--it would be nice if you came too."
The falter in the last sentence betrayed the fact that she was nervous.
Wingarde smiled faintly, contemptuously, as he made reply.
"Really, that's very kind of you," he said. "But I am compelled to plead
a prior engagement. You will be home by midnight, I suppose?"
Archie made an abrupt movement. For a second he hovered on the verge of
an indignant outburst. The man's manner, rather than his words, was
insufferable. But in that second he met Wingarde's eyes, and something
he saw there checked him. He pulled himself together and somewhat
awkwardly took his leave.
Wingarde saw him off, with the scoffing smile upon his lips. When he
returned to the drawing-room Nina was on her feet, waiting for him. She
was still unusually pale, and her eyes were very bright. She wore a
restless, startled look, as though her nerves were on the stretch.
Wingarde glanced at her.
"You had better go and lie down till dinner," he said.
Nina looked back at him. Her lips quivered a little, but when she spoke
her voice was absolutely steady. She held her head resolutely high.
"I think Archie must have forgotten to thank you," she said, "for what
you did. But I have not. Will you accept my gratitude?"
There was proud humility in her voice. But Wingarde only shrugged his
shoulders with a sneer.
"Your gratitude would have been more genuine if you had been saved a
widow instead of a wife," he said brutally.
She recoiled from him. Her eyes flashed furious indignation. She felt as
if he had struck her in the face. She spoke instantly and vehemently.
Her voice shook.
"That is a poison of your own mixing," she said. "You know it!"
"What! It isn't true?" he asked.
He drew suddenly close to her. His eyes gleamed also with the gleam of
a smouldering fire. She saw that he was moved. She believed him to be
angry. Trembling, yet scornful, she held her peace.
He gripped her wrists suddenly, bending his dark face close to hers.
"If it isn't true--" he said, and stopped.
She drew back from him with a startled movement. For an instant her eyes
challenged his. Then abruptly their fierce resistance failed. She turned
her face aside and burst into tears.
In a moment she was free. Her husband stood regarding her with a very
curious look in his eyes. He watched her as she moved slowly away from
him, fighting fiercely, desperately, to regain her self-control. He saw
her sit down, leaving almost the length of the room between them, and
lean her head upon her hand.
Then the man's arrested brutality suddenly reasserted itself, and he
strode to the door.
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed as he went. "Don't I know that you pray for a
deliverer every night of your life? And what deliverer would you have if
not death--the surest of all--in your case positively the only one
within the bounds of possibility?"
He was gone with the words, but she would not have attempted to answer
them had he stayed. Her head was bowed almost to her knees, and she sat
quite motionless, as if he had stabbed her to the heart.
Later she dined alone with Archie in her husband's unexplained absence,
and later still, at the theatre, her face was as gay, her laugh as
frequent, as any there.