For Audrey was no ordinary pretty woman. Tall, but not of an unmanageable height, with a good and well-developed figure, she was gifted also with a lovely face, of which the most striking feature was a pair of big blue eyes which made her look a good deal more artless than she was. With hair so fair that all the other women said it was dyed, and a complexion that had no fault save that it was a trifle pale, Audrey had been acclaimed a beauty everywhere, and Mr. Candover was one of the most enthusiastic and open of her admirers.
With the superiority given by his forty-five years, which he only admitted—so he said—because he had two great girls growing up at home who would “give away” any attempts at juvenility on his part, Mr. Candover had taken the young folk under his wing, introduced them to his friends, given luncheons and dinners in their honour, and driven them about in his splendid motor-car, proceedings which the bride and bridegroom found pleasant enough, but which had undoubtedly led them into spending more than they were quite justified in doing at the outset of their married life.
For Gerard had only his salary as clerk at the bank, and a small patrimony of seven thousand pounds, into which matrimony was making great inroads.
Audrey, the orphan daughter of a Lancashire manufacturer who had lost a fortune by unlucky speculation, had indeed two or three thousand pounds of her own, well invested and at her own disposal. But that, Gerard said, was to be looked upon as a nest-egg, not to be touched even when creditors pressed and times grew anxious.
They were lucky in finding Mr. Candover at home. He was dressing for dinner, so they were told by the man in livery who opened the door, and they were shown into the drawing-room, where, even at that anxious moment, Audrey could not forbear casting an admiring glance round at the priceless pictures, the exquisitely harmonious tapestries, the grand piano in its painted case, and the old French furniture which looked, as she said, “as if it had come out of a glorified museum”. Mr. Candover’s taste was exquisite, and his wealth was enormous, a combination which had produced the best results.
They felt their spirits rise on finding themselves in the neighbourhood of their powerful friend; and when the door was thrown open by the valet, and their host came quickly in, handsome, perfectly dressed, and with a smile of welcome on his face, both felt their hearts beat faster with the certainty that he would be as willing as he would be ready to help them in their trouble by sound advice and counsel.
“This is a delightful surprise,” said he, as he took Audrey by the hand, with a certain gentle courtesy of manner which was cosmopolitan rather than British, and met her eyes with chivalrous admiration in his own. “I was going out to dinner. But I shall now stay at home and you must dine with me. I hope it is some pleasant errand that brings you here, as pleasant as the sight of you is to me?”
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.