"You must drive back home at once," said Ralph, determinedly. She shook her head. "It is useless. My father will go straight home and give orders that I am not to be admitted." "Oh, that is impossible. Think of the scandal." "Papa does not mind the scandal. Already he has shown how far he is prepared to go by having me watched by Ranger. Oh"--she clenched her hand--"think of the disgrace of it all!" "Then you must stay the night at some hotel." "I cannot--I have no baggage. What hotel would take me in with no baggage? I have very little money too, and only the clothes I stand up in." "Oh, the money doesn't matter, my darling. I can provide you with what you require," said Ralph, hastily; then muttered through his teeth: "But it is a confoundedly awkward situation in any case. Your father is a brute." "He is what he has always been," said Audrey, with a tired sigh, for the late conversation had quite broken her up--"a man who has always had his own way. There is only one thing to be done"--and she rose. "What is that?" asked Shawe, hopefully. "I must go to the Pink Shop and throw myself on the mercy of my aunt." Ralph brightened. "You clever darling to think of that," he said, looking at his watch. "It's half-past ten o'clock. I wonder if she will be still up?" "I daresay; if not, we can rouse her. Come, Ralph"--she pulled down her veil to hide a very white face--"let us go at once. Oh, I do hope that my father will say nothing of my being here to anyone. I now see how rash I have been. It's terrible." "Darling, I really don't think your father will say anything; for very shame he cannot. He will account for your absence by saying that you refused to obey him with regard to this marriage with Anvers, and that he turned you out. Everyone who knows what an animal he is will believe this version. I am quite sure that your visit here will never be known." Thus comforted, and seeing the commonsense view taken by Shawe, Audrey went down the stairs with her lover, and they passed out of the great block of buildings and through the Gardens. The porter was not visible, and as Audrey wore such a thick veil, it was not likely that he would be able to recognise her on any future occasion. In Fleet Street the barrister procured a cab, and they drove westward in silence. The whole thing seemed like a nightmare, and Audrey shivered like a leaf. It was terrible to think that she had no home. If Madame Coralie refused to take her in, Heaven only knew what she could do; but she had every hope that her aunt would stand by her at this crisis, particularly as she seemed to hate Sir Joseph. "Audrey darling, I think we must get married," said Ralph, after a long silence; "things can't go on in this way." "But your career?" said Audrey, faintly. "Never mind my career. Your father has deserted you, so you must become my wife, in order that I may have the right to protect you. Madame Coralie can keep you with her until we can arrange matters."