Now he intended to marry again, and after the first feeling of natural resentment Audrey could not condemn him. Had her father only broken the news more kindly; had he only behaved less like a bully and more like a parent, and had he delayed to announce his determination for a few months, the girl would have received the intelligence differently. But the information coming with such indecent haste, coupled with his fiat that she was not to think of marrying Ralph Shawe, had brought the worst elements in Audrey's nature to the front. Her affections were deep and her temper was strong, so she felt anxious to resent the insult conveyed by the entire interview. But reflection calmed her early determination to leave the house before her domestic tyrant could return from Brighton. She had nowhere to go to, and she had no money, so it was necessary to wait for at least a time before deciding what to do. But she arose with a shudder, and felt that the luxury around was repellent to her. In fact, her feeling was that she dwelt in the house of a stranger, so hostile and self-centred did her father now appear to be. And yet, even at the best, they had never been parent and child. "I shall see Ralph and tell him, and be guided by what he says," Audrey murmured to herself. "But--who is Rosy Pearl?" She had never heard the name, and yet in some way it sounded familiar. As she walked out of the breakfast-room reflecting on her father's abrupt announcement, and wondering what the future Lady Branwin was like, a servant respectfully informed her that Mrs. Mellop had arrived and was in the drawing-room. Audrey frowned, as she felt that, after such a trying interview, it would be somewhat difficult to put up with the widow's frivolous chatter. However, while she remained under her father's roof, she felt bound to obey his orders, and remembered that Mrs. Mellop was to be invited to stay during Sir Joseph's absence at Brighton. She therefore composed her face, and rubbed her cheeks to bring a little colour into them. When she opened the drawing-room door Mrs. Mellop rushed at her, cooing like a dove. "You dear child, you sweet child, my heart aches for you," said the widow, who was all chiffons and scent, and gush and restlessness. "This dreadful death, the illness of your poor father"--she put a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes--"it's too awful for words." "Thank you," said Audrey, coldly, and then irrelevantly asked a question which haunted her mind, and was on the top of her tongue. "Mrs. Mellop, you usually know everyone. Who is Rosy Pearl?" Mrs. Mellop stared aghast. "My dear child," she said, in a shocked tone, "you should know nothing about such a creature." "A creature! What creature?" asked Audrey, colouring vividly. "She is a music-hall artist," said Mrs. Mellop, solemnly--"a painted butterfly." CHAPTER VI AUDREY'S KNIGHT-ERRANT