“And that woman--who dares to talk to us all in that strain, to bring accusations, to talk of gangs of swindlers--is the wife of a convict!” The words came like a bombshell into the group, and the very men who had felt compunction for their share in the scene, the very men who had been all but convinced by her spirit and her proud yet innocent bearing were on the instant filled with amazement and indignation, while the suspicions which had begun to melt away became at once as strong as ever. For Audrey certainly heard the words uttered by Mr. Candover, since they caused a shiver to pass through her. Every eye was turned upon her as she wheeled round in the doorway, and said, in a low voice, with biting emphasis:-- “Gentlemen, I have done my best to protect you--from yourselves. I thank you--for your chivalrous return.” Then she tottered through the doorway, rejecting with a cold gesture Sir Barnaby’s proffered help, and shutting herself into the little room at the back where she used to leave her walking dress when she came to and from the showrooms every day, she locked herself in, sat down on the nearest chair, and remained like a woman struck with paralysis, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel that last terrible wound inflicted by Mr. Candover. The wife of a convict! The wife of a convict! This was the weapon he had held in reserve all this time, knowing that he could rely upon it to quench every feeling of pity or respect which might be felt towards the poor victim of his craft! Audrey understood now better than ever how closely the net was drawn about her feet, how strong were the meshes which bound her. The wife of a convict! And she had not been able to say one word in refutation of the taunt. She was the wife of a man who had been convicted, and that, in the eyes of the world, was enough to place both her and her husband beyond the pale of sympathy. Yet, why should it be so? Why should they take it for granted that she was worthless, just because they took it for granted that her husband, having been convicted, must be a criminal? Why were they so blind as to suppose that she, who denounced the cheating that had gone on at “The Briars,” was in league with the cheats? She could not understand it. She could not realise how subtilly Mr. Candover had been at work, representing her as a miracle of artful prudence, whose airs of innocence hid the most careful and cautious system of self-preservation. While she wondered why they could not read guilt in his pale face, in his burning, angry eyes, the rest of the men were listening to Mr. Candover’s comments on her behaviour, on her cleverness in being blind to everything until there was a “row,” and in then running away and assuming airs of virtuous indignation over an occurrence which to her must have been an everyday affair.