His face changed; he seemed to be withdrawing alarmed into himself.
“Never—been married?”
“Oh! You must understand me!” she went on, with an appealing vivacity. “I was all alone. I was in mourning for my father and mother. I wanted to see the world. I just had to see it! I expect I was very foolish, but it was so easy to put a ring on my finger and call myself Mrs. And it gave me such advantages. And Miss Ingate agreed. She was my mother’s oldest friend.... You’re vexed with me.”
“You always seemed so wise,” Mr. Gilman faltered.
“Ah! That’s only the effect of my forehead!”
“And yet, you know, I always thought there was something very innocent about you, too.”
“I don’t know what that was,” said Audrey. “But honestly I acted for the best. You see I’m rather rich. Supposing I’d only gone about as a young marriageable girl—what frightful risks I should have run, shouldn’t I? Somebody would be bound to have married me for my money. And look at all I should have missed—without this ring! I should never have met you in Paris, for instance, and we should never have had those talks.... And—and there’s a lot more reasons—I shall tell you another time—about Madame Piriac and so on. Now do say you aren’t vexed!”
”I think you’ve been splendid,” he said, with enthusiasm. “I think the girls of to-day are splendid! I’ve been a regular old fogey, that’s what it is.”
“Now there’s one thing I want you not to do,” Audrey proceeded. “I want you not to alter the way you talk to me. Because I’m really just the same girl I was last night. And I couldn’t bear you to change.”
“I won’t! I won’t! But of course——”