Selwyn was in New York, and the absolute certainty of his personal safety attracted him strongly, rousing all the latent tyranny in his meagre soul.
Probably--but he didn't understand the legal requirements of the matter, and whether or not it was necessary for him personally to see this place where Selwyn maintained her, and see her in it--probably he would be obliged to come here again with far less certainty of personal security from Selwyn.

Perhaps that future visit might even be avoided if he took this opportunity to investigate.

Whether it was the half-sneering curiosity to see his wife, or the hope of doing a thing now which, by the doing, he need not do later--whether it was either of these that moved him to the impulse, is not quite clear.
He said to the hackman: "You wait here.

I'm going over to the Willow Villa for a few moments, and then I'll want you to drive me back to the station in time for that four-thirty.

Do you understand ?" The man said he understood, and Ruthven, bundled in his fur coat, picked his way across the crust, through a gateway, and up what appeared to be a hedged lane.
The lane presently disclosed itself as an avenue, now doubly lined with tall trees; this avenue he continued to follow, passing through a grove of locusts, and came out before a house on the low crest of a hill.
There were clumps of evergreens about, tall cedars, a bit of bushy foreland, and a stretch of snow.