For the half-fainting Audrey was supported by the arms of a handsome, well-dressed man, who hung over her solicitously, tenderly.
And the man was Reginald Candover, Gerard’s best friend.
CHAPTER III
Audrey was scarcely more than half conscious when she found herself out in the open air, such air as was to be had on a hot, dusty day at the end of May, with a blazing sun pouring down into the busy streets near the Old Bailey, and a keen east wind waiting round the corner, blowing clouds of paper, straw and dust into the faces of the passers-by.
The blinding glare of the sun revived her, however, and made her blink. Looking round, she found herself supported by the arm of a man, listening to a voice she half remembered, and surrounded by a too attentive and too curious, but decidedly sympathetic, crowd.
“Poor thing!” “She’s his wife!” “Didn’t you see him look at her?” “P’raps he didn’t do it, after all!” “Poor thing!”
These and similar comments reached Audrey’s ears before they carried any sense to them. But remembrance, full, horrible, came back suddenly, and she drew herself up and struggled to regain her self-command.
“Mr. Candover!”
“Yes, yes. You’re all right. I’ve got my car here; only get through this abominable crowd, and you will be all right.”
But Audrey had recovered her wits, and a sudden fierce resentment awoke in her.