The only noticeable points of difference, indeed, were the fact that while Johnson was clean-shaved, Dr. Fendall wore a greyish moustache, and that whereas the secretary used no glasses, the doctor wore gold-rimmed spectacles. The longer Audrey looked, the more struck was she by this resemblance, and Johnson himself soon became aware of her curious gaze, grew uneasy under it, glanced at her apprehensively again and again, and finally, at the first opportunity, sprang up from the table at which he was playing and made a dash for the door at the opposite end of the room from that at which Audrey stood. But she was determined to question him; and retreating hastily through the drawing-room she slipped out quietly into the hall, and came, as she had expected to do, face to face with Johnson, who was in the act of finding his hat from a pile on the hall table. “Mr. Johnson,” said she, “I want to ask you something.” He bowed without speaking, but looked very uncomfortable. “You are a brother of Dr. Fendall, are you not?” He burst into an awkward, self-conscious laugh. “Why, yes, I am,” said he. “I am a brother of his. Do--do you know him?” Audrey looked at him curiously, with a sudden suspicion. “Then how is it,” she asked quickly, “that you haven’t the same name?” CHAPTER VIII Before Johnson could answer, Audrey heard Mr. Candover’s voice behind her, and turning, she received his answer for the strangely perturbed secretary. “Mr. Johnson,” said he, “is only Dr. Fendall’s half-brother; that’s why they don’t bear the same surname.” “I see.” In that short interruption Johnson had found time to escape, not by the front-door, but back to the card-room, and Mr. Candover, who looked more excited than he usually allowed himself to appear, asked Audrey why she looked so cross. She was strung up, agitated, eager for the contest with this man whose subtle advice always led her into such difficult places. “Do I?” she said, putting strong constraint upon herself, and forcing herself to speak calmly, though her eyes blazed and her lips trembled. “Well, I think I am cross. At any rate I’m disgusted, and I’m sure, if you can’t guess all the reasons why I am so, you know some of them at least.” “Let us come in here, where we can talk,” said he, as he opened the door of the conservatory, near which they were standing. He arranged for her one of the cane-seated lounge chairs which stood about among the flowers, and invited her, with a winning smile, to seat herself in the pile of cushions which he collected from the other seats round him. But she would not sit down. She felt at greater advantage when she could move about, and meet his eyes on the same level as her own.