“There, there, don’t fret, dear. It’s one of the misfortunes of your good looks to be exposed to that sort of thing. But I didn’t think it of Mr. Candover. The way he speaks of you is always quite charming! You must give him the cold shoulder, for a time at least, and I don’t suppose you will have anything to complain of again.” Audrey sat up and dried her eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I shall. He seemed very sorry and ashamed of himself,” admitted she. “But still it breaks one’s heart to have to be always on the defensive with everybody. And he said things--other things, that I can’t forgive. So that, while I mean to let him know that I won’t have anything to say to him for the future, I can’t get over what he did say.” Mrs. Webster looked curious. “It was something about--about my poor Gerard,” said Audrey, so quickly, with such evident reluctance, that her friend guessed at once something of the nature of the offending speech. “Well, my dear, you have always other friends to come to,” the kind-hearted lady said gently. “Remember that. If you have really had to quarrel with Mr. Candover permanently--which I should be sorry for--at least you can always depend upon such help as I can give, and upon my standing by you through thick and thin.” “I know I can,” said Audrey, with a grateful but tearful look. Mrs. Webster did not go back to town till the afternoon, and when Audrey had driven her to the station in the little pony-carriage, and driven back again, she was told that Sir Harry Archdale had called, and that he was in the drawing-room. Audrey went straight into the long, sunny apartment, where the soft afternoon light came in filtered through tinted curtains and mellowed by the outstretched roof of the wide veranda. The young man came to meet her with a rather shy and hesitating manner. “I do hope you won’t be very much offended, Madame, by my coming,” said he. “I know you don’t usually receive except in the evenings. But the fact is----” He paused, and evidently found a difficulty in choosing suitable words. Audrey, however, would not help him. She stood waiting for him to go on, with fear in her great eyes. “Well, you said something to me last night, something very kind, that set me thinking, and that--Really, I’m awfully afraid of what you’ll say, but----” At last she felt bound to help him out. For the poor fellow hesitated, and floundered, and blushed, and stammered, so that it was quite impossible to make any sense of the words he uttered. Audrey, feeling sure that this was a visitor of whom she had no need to be afraid, smiled and sat down, saying:-- “Can I help you? I wanted you not to play cards if you always lost.” “That’s it! That’s the very thing I meant,” cried he in relief. “I wanted to tell you--I’ve thought over it a great deal, and of course I would never have hinted at such a thing if you had not started the subject yourself. But--there’s a man one meets here who is always lucky, extraordinarily lucky, and----”