“Why does she send you to me?” she asked. “Surely she knows more about these things than I do, and I gave her _carte blanche_ to buy what she thought proper. Besides----” “Well,” interrupted Mr. Candover quickly, “I think you ought to be consulted. You have excellent taste, and----” “Oh, no, I know nothing and care nothing about these things! I wear the dresses she tells me to wear, I recommend those she advises me to recommend. I am a mere puppet, without a will of my own or a word to say on my own account!” Mr. Candover took her petulance sublimely. He was as patient as a lamb. “Oh, don’t say that. You won’t when you have rested a little, and had something to eat. Don’t let me detain you. I can wait here, if I may, while you dine.” Audrey bit her lip. “You have dined, yourself?” she asked perfunctorily. For some reason, perhaps it was on account of Lord Clanfield’s disapproval of her friends, she did not feel kindly disposed to Mr. Candover at that moment. She had, even while he consulted her on this question of fashions, an uneasy, dim, vague sense that he was connected with her misfortunes; connected wilfully, and not by unhappy chance. At another time she might have been ashamed of this vague feeling, but at this moment of irritation, disappointment and despair, she could not be just, she was at the mercy of--instincts. And her instincts, at this moment of depression, were all in arms against him. “Yes, thanks. I dined early, before leaving town. You will see me to settle this matter, won’t you?” He was winning, persuasive, gentle. Wounded, irritable, full of misgivings as she was, she could not help finding his deference, his almost humble courtesy, both welcome and soothing. She left him, and dining hurriedly, dressed herself with care, as a woman does when she is conscious that there is an ordeal of some sort in prospect. And when she came down to the drawing-room she was at least outwardly calm, radiant and beautiful, even if her mind was torn with perplexing questions. She had intentionally said no word as yet to Mr. Candover of the momentous news of Gerard’s release. Not a word, either, of her visit to Lord Clanfield’s. These pieces of information would, she knew, open up such a wide field for discussion that they could not be approached except with full leisure. That leisure, had, however now come, and she knew, as she swept into the drawing-room, in her dress of cream silk muslin with huge rosettes of palest turquoise velvet, that there was a struggle in store. She wanted to withdraw from the wretched position in which she found herself, cut off from husband and relations. He would want her to snap her fingers at prejudices and principles alike, and to continue at her post. Thus much she knew, but what she did not know, until she began to approach the subject, was that Mr. Candover was already in possession of the greater part of her news.