"That's the story, if you can call it a story, for Mr. Ruthven Smith
isn't a bit exciting nor interesting. When he appears--generally quite
suddenly--he finds his room ready. He has his breakfast sent up, and
lunches out at his club or somewhere. He mostly dines out, too, but he
has a standing invitation to dine with Mrs. Ellsworth, and we always have
good dinners when he is staying, to be ready in case of the worst."

The man smiled, rather a charming smile, Annesley could not help
noticing.

"In case of the worst!" he repeated. "He must be deadly if his
society bores you more than that of an old lady on whom, I suppose,
you dance attendance morning, noon, and night. Now, my situation is
so--er--peculiar that I ought to be thankful to exchange identities
with any man. But I wouldn't with Mr. Ruthven Smith for all his money
and jewels."

Annesley opened her eyes. "Did I say anything about jewels?" she asked.

"No, you didn't," the man assured her, "except in mentioning the name of
Ruthven Smith. Anybody who has lived in America as long as I have,
associates jewels with the name of Ruthven Smith. His 'Ruthven' lifts him
far above the ruck of a _mere_ Smith--like myself, for instance"; and he
smiled again.

Annesley began curiously to feel as if she knew him well. This made her
more anxious to give him help--for it would not be helping a stranger: it
would be helping a friend.