The visitor said nothing for a moment, but stared at her in the same piercing way. Then she got up, went softly across the room to the door, opened it quickly, and looked out. “What are you doing?” said Audrey. “Eugène uses spies,” replied the visitor briefly, as she walked slowly round the room, apparently examining the furniture, the very walls, to see whether there was any possibility of their being overheard by unseen ears. Having satisfied herself, she came back to her seat. “And so,” she said bluntly, “this is a gambling-house, and you are the decoy?” “How dare you call me that?” panted Audrey, more angry than she could express. But the woman went steadily on: “You, with your pretty face and figure, your well-bred air and your handsome dresses, are the nominal head of this house, I suppose?” “What do you mean?” “Oh, don’t be offended. Why should you be, when what I say is true? Listen. I was his wife, you know. He was a rich man when I married him, and I brought him money myself. All went well while the money lasted, and we could live well and ostentatiously, keep horses and carriages--there were no motor-cars in those days--and a yacht and every luxury. Then the money ran short--the times changed, difficulties grew. Things grew worse and worse and presently they began to mend again, mend mysteriously. It was some time before I knew that there was anything wrong about the new prosperity, but when the knowledge did come, when I understood that I was expected to share in the vile work--to help in ugly schemes--cheating at cards--forgery--fraud--he was clever at them all--I stood firm, I refused.” She paused, and the remembrance of the far-away time she referred to seemed to increase the intense melancholy of her worn face, to render her deep voice more hollow. When she went on speaking, there came again over her face that wild look which had made the servants at Miss Willett’s, and Audrey herself, take her for a madwoman. “When he found he could do nothing with me, he changed his plans. Since I would not help him, I must go. By every cruel device, every wicked stratagem he tried to drive me out of my mind; he sent my two children away from me, he worked upon my nerves until I became hysterical, used threats which nobody would believe, threats of abandoning my little children, of murdering me.” “Why didn’t you tell some one?” said Audrey. “Because nobody would have believed me. He was gentle, handsome, with a caressing voice and charming manner. I was hysterical, irritable, proud, perhaps overbearing and too unhappy to be liked. Everybody took his part, and said how hard it was for genial, charming Eugène Reynolds to be tied to such an unamiable wife.” “Why didn’t you run away from him?”