She tried to smile, but her face quivered.
“I can’t take you in there—among all those giggling, whispering girls,” she said, under her breath. “Come in here.”
And very quietly, almost on tiptoe, she led him down to the second landing and into her own room.
There she gave way again, and throwing herself face downwards on the sofa by the small fire, she burst into a passion of tears.
It was in vain he scolded her, tried to comfort her.
“Are you sorry I’ve come?” asked he at last, as, kneeling beside her, he put his head against her shoulder and tried to look into her tear-blurred face. “Don’t you feel glad to think you’ve got me back again to take care of you, to save you from scenes like that, and from having to be civil to a lot of gouty old idiots like the one I saw hobbling downstairs?”
Audrey sprang up, and peered into his face. Then she drew a long, sobbing breath of relief.
“Oh,” she cried, “thank Heaven, thank Heaven you take it like that! That you’re not angry! I—I was so afraid you wouldn’t understand!”
Gerard, whose own eyes were moist, looked into her face.
“My poor girl,” he said, “I’ve never had a thought—since I first heard—three hours ago—of what you’ve gone through, but to thank Heaven that I can take care of you again!”