And he looked from the one to the other with the smile dying away from his face. His very courtliness, his perfect manner, checked the two blunter, less sophisticated young people on the threshold of their confession. There was something remote from trivial worries, from sordid cares, about this genial, gentle, low-voiced, kindly gentleman, whose trim figure, small fine features, gentle brown eyes and slight dark moustache all seemed to belong rather to a prince who passes his life in cotton-wool than to an ordinary citizen of this work-a-day world. “Come, what is it? You alarm me!” said he, after a moment’s pause, during which the cloud on their usually bright faces had made itself evident. Gerard broke into his tale without ceremony, baldly, stupidly, incoherently, as he felt. Audrey listened mutely, sitting on a sofa, very upright, clasping her hands. Mr. Candover, who remained standing as Gerard did, heard the story with deep attention, but without the amazement and distress they had expected. When Gerard paused, Mr. Candover pulled aside a heavy portière, went into the next room, and returned with a spirit decanter and a glass. “Drink that,” he said, as he poured out a wine-glassful of brandy. “You’re shaken, upset, not yourself.” Gerard obeyed, swallowed the brandy in gulps, frightened beyond measure at the way in which his story had been received. Audrey tapped her foot impatiently. “Well, what do you think?” she said. “I think,” said he, “that you have no need to worry yourselves about this. This Sir Richmond is a very old man, and is, as you admit, full of crotchets. My own idea is that the cheques were genuine, and that he has forgotten all about them and who he gave them to. If I’m right, it will only take a few days to find out the truth, and to trace the money to the people to whom he’s given it. Secretaries of real charities, or charitable impostors, very likely.” “I never thought of that!” cried Gerard, with sudden relief. Audrey shook her head. “The cheques were not all together,” said she. “They were torn out of different parts of the book. And he wouldn’t forget all three, you know.” Gerard’s face fell again. Mr. Candover filled up the glass again; but Audrey, rising quickly from her seat, shook her head and gently checked her husband’s hand. “No,” said she. “No more, Gerard. You’ve had nothing to eat and you want your best brains. Mr. Candover,” and she turned to him, with a new dignity and peremptoriness surprising in such a young woman, “you’ve disappointed me. I thought you would have something better to suggest than--brandy.” Gerard was rather surprised, even alarmed, by his wife’s daring. “I’m afraid, Audrey, it’s because there is nothing to be done that Mr. Candover suggests nothing,” said he. Audrey leaned over the little table by which she was standing.