She struggled to regain the self-command she had lost, and looking eagerly, pitifully into his face, whispered:-- “You’re not angry with me? I thought--I was afraid--you would be.” “I’m angry, very angry, at being kept out on the stairs,” replied Gerard, with a touch of the old boyish humour which went to her heart like a stab. She tried to smile, but her face quivered. “I can’t take you in there--among all those giggling, whispering girls,” she said, under her breath. “Come in here.” And very quietly, almost on tiptoe, she led him down to the second landing and into her own room. There she gave way again, and throwing herself face downwards on the sofa by the small fire, she burst into a passion of tears. It was in vain he scolded her, tried to comfort her. “Are you sorry I’ve come?” asked he at last, as, kneeling beside her, he put his head against her shoulder and tried to look into her tear-blurred face. “Don’t you feel glad to think you’ve got me back again to take care of you, to save you from scenes like that, and from having to be civil to a lot of gouty old idiots like the one I saw hobbling downstairs?” Audrey sprang up, and peered into his face. Then she drew a long, sobbing breath of relief. “Oh,” she cried, “thank Heaven, thank Heaven you take it like that! That you’re not angry! I--I was so afraid you wouldn’t understand!” Gerard, whose own eyes were moist, looked into her face. “My poor girl,” he said, “I’ve never had a thought--since I first heard--three hours ago--of what you’ve gone through, but to thank Heaven that I can take care of you again!” “What have you heard?” asked Audrey quickly. “Everything, I fancy. Of the infamous way in which that rascal Candover----” “Sh--sh!” Audrey put her hand on her husband’s mouth. And she whispered in his ear: “If you know so much, you _do_ know everything! Or everything that matters! But to find you taking my part--when I was afraid--when I was dreading what you’d say, what you’d think--oh, Gerard, Gerard, I can scarcely believe it!” She was sobbing hysterically, feeling the relief of this great and unlooked-for comfort, this joy which she had not dared to hope for. Gerard, Gerard whose passionate anger she had been dreading, had only one thought, one idea, that he could take care of her again. Presently she grew calmer, and nestling close to him on the sofa, whispered to him to tell her exactly what he knew, and how he had found her. He told her how his two cousins had arrived at Lord Clanfield’s that morning and what they had said; how they had given their account of the scene in which she accused her gambling guests, and how Lord Clanfield had recorded his first interview with her, and how he, Gerard, had listened quietly, and simply made up his mind to go to her without delay.