Then Selwyn went away with a shrug of utter loathing; but after he had
gone, and Ruthven's servants had discovered him and summoned a
physician, their master lay heavily amid his painted draperies and
cushions, his congested features set, his eyes partly open and
possessing sight, but the whites of them had disappeared and the eyes
themselves, save for the pupils, were like two dark slits filled with
blood.
There was no doubt about it; the doctors, one and all, knew their
business when they had so often cautioned Mr. Ruthven to avoid sudden
and excessive emotions.
That night Selwyn wrote briefly to Mrs. Ruthven:
"I saw your husband this afternoon. He is at liberty to inform you
of what passed. But in case he does not, there is one detail which
you ought to know: your husband believes that you once paid a visit
to my apartments. It is unlikely that he will repeat the accusation
and I think there is no occasion for you to worry. However, it is
only proper that you should know this--which is my only excuse for
writing you a letter that requires no acknowledgment.
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