He was much concerned at her displeasure, and said that they must take care that it did not occur again; this was a rather vague assurance, which had no other result than the reappearance of the two young men a few nights later, in much the same condition as before. On the following day Audrey wrote an angry letter to Mr. Candover, telling him that she intended to leave “The Briars” without delay, as she would not tolerate any more scenes such as that of the previous night, either in the hope of retaining valuable clients or for any other reason. She had scarcely finished the letter when a servant came in, and announced: “Lord Clanfield.” Audrey pressed her hand to her heart, which throbbed with frantic excitement. Did he know her? Was he come to make late amends for his neglect of poor Gerard? She rose from her seat as there entered a dignified man of the middle height, strikingly like Gerard, who indeed resembled him much more closely than did either of his own sons. Audrey bowed without speaking. She could not, indeed, trust herself to utter a word, even if she had known what to say. A second glance at his open, honest face showed her that it was with no friendly intention he had come. His first words showed her that it was not to his nephew’s wife that his unexpected visit was paid. “Madame Rocada,” said he, in the coldest, sternest of voices, “I have come to request you to do me the favour of forbidding my two sons to enter your house.” A chill seized Audrey. The next moment a sense of resentment rose in her mind and sent a flush to her cheeks. She looked not only handsome, but stately, as she drew up her tall figure and stood erect in the sunlight, which played upon her golden hair, and sparkled upon the pearl paillettes which studded the dress of cream silk muslin, with a billowy train, which she was wearing. “Upon what grounds do you make such a singular request, and in such a singular manner?” asked she, subduing her voice to a level and quiet tone. For one moment he hesitated. Great beauty in a woman compels a sort of respect from any man. And Audrey had never looked lovelier than she did at that moment. “I regret to have to put it so plainly. I had hoped that you would have spared me the necessity. But since I must be plain, it is because I have just learnt that you, Madame Rocada, are the lady known abroad as the White Countess, the keeper of the Paris gaming-house in which the son of one of my friends, young Hugh Grey, committed suicide two years ago.” CHAPTER VII Audrey was struck dumb. As if by a flash of lightning, she found her whole mind illuminated, and saw at once the meaning of the visit paid to her showrooms by the lady in white. The pale, thin woman was, she felt sure, the real Madame Rocada, and it was the discovery that another woman was setting up in business under her name which brought the vengeful stranger on the visit which had turned out so fatally for herself.