Babs, the younger girl, was rather silent, rather slow. But the pretty features and fair hair promised to develop into great beauty by-and-by. Both girls had evidently been told enough to interest them in their beautiful hostess, as poor Audrey felt with a pang. And their shy looks and gently subdued voices cut her to the quick, making her feel indeed that she was lonely with a deeper loneliness than that of a widow, for was not Gerard going through worse than death? Audrey hoped to dispose of her task as hostess within an hour, but as they all stayed on she presently felt compelled to ask them to stay and dine with her, an invitation which was accepted with so much readiness that she perceived at once that this was the end Mr. Candover had had in view. She felt rather ashamed of her vague mistrust of this amiable and kind friend when, the girls being engaged at the piano in a “brilliant” duet which afforded a perfect cover for conversation, he said to her in a low voice full of feeling:-- “And now, my dear Mrs. Angmering, let me know something of your plans. Both the girls and I hope that you won’t give us up altogether, however quiet you mean to be.” Reticence would be out of place, she felt, now that Mr. Candover had so tactfully shown himself in the character of an old friend and a father, instead of the one in which she knew him best, the complimentary, half lover-like man of pleasure and man about town. “I want,” she said, “to do something for myself, to earn money, I mean. I want to have something to show Gerard when I see him again.” Mr. Candover raised his eyebrows. “Well said, like a brave lady. And what do you propose to do? Perhaps I could help you.” “Well,” said Audrey, “I have a taste, perhaps even a talent, for millinery; I have still a little capital; and I thought I might perhaps start a business as lots of women do now. Too many, perhaps,” she added thoughtfully. “Too many do it the wrong way. You must do it the right way,” said Mr. Candover with animation. “Now this is a thing I know I can help you in, and you ought to do well. But remember, there must be no half-measures. Don’t be modest. That is the golden rule for every sort of business, from that of the company promoter to that of the keeper of a whelk-stall. Blow the trumpet, beat the drum, tell them yours is the greatest show on earth--and they’ll believe you.” Audrey laughed nervously. “Oh, I haven’t either impudence or money enough to make a great noise about it,” said she. “Never mind. I’ll do that for you. I know of the very woman who would do the hard part of the work; what you have to do is the showy part. You must wear handsome dresses, advertise your own bonnets, and swagger about in a victoria to show them all off.” “Oh, no, no, I’d no idea of doing anything of that sort,” said Audrey breathlessly.