"Mr. Wilding," said she, her heart fluttering in her throat. "May I... may I speak with you?"
He leaned forward, seeking to pierce the shadows of her wimple; he had thought he recognized the voice, as his sudden start had shown; and yet he disbelieved his ears. She moved her head at that moment, and the light streaming out from a lamp in the passage beat upon her white face.
"Ruth!" he cried, and came quickly forward. Trenchard, behind him, looked on and scowled with sudden impatience. Mr. Wilding's philanderings with this lady had never had the old rake's approval. Too much trouble already had resulted from them.
"I must speak with you at once. At once!" she urged him, her tone fearful.
"Are you in need of me?" he asked concernedly.
"In very urgent need," said she.
"I thank God," he answered without flippancy. "You shall find me at your service. Tell me."
"Not here; not here," she answered him.
"Where else?" said he. "Shall we walk?"
"No, no." Her repetitions marked the deep excitement that possessed her. "I will go in with you." And she signed with her head towards the door from which he was barely emerged.
"'Twere scarce fitting," said he, for being confused and full of speculation on the score of her need, he had for the moment almost overlooked the relations in which they stood. In spite of the ceremony through which they had gone together, Mr. Wilding still mostly thought of her as of a mistress very difficult to woo.
"Fitting?" she echoed, and then after a pause, "Am I not your wife?" she asked him in a low voice, her cheeks crimsoning.
"Ha! 'Pon honour, I had almost forgot," said he, and though the burden of his words seemed mocking, their tone was sad.
Of the passers-by that jostled them a couple had now paused to watch a scene that had an element of the unusual in it. She pulled her wimple closer to her face, took him by the arm, and drew him with her into the house.
"Close the door," she bade him, and Trenchard, who had stood aside that they might pass in, forestalled him in obeying her. "Now lead me to your room, said she, and Wilding in amaze turned to Trenchard as if asking his consent, for the lodging, after all, was Trenchard's.
"I'll wait here," said Nick, and waved his hand towards an oak bench that stood in the passage. "You had best make haste," he urged his friend; "you are late already. That is, unless you are of a mind to set the lady's affairs before King Monmouth's. And were I in your place, Anthony, faith I'd not scruple to do it. For after all," he added under his breath, "there's little choice in rotten apples."