This was Gerard’s most intimate friend, and he had known all about their distress, yet they had seen nothing of him all through that dreadful time. She tried to draw away the hand which he held fast within his own arm.
“You might have come to us before!” she said, with bitter reproach. “You knew the trouble we were in, and you professed to be so anxious to help us. Yet never once in all that dreadful time have we seen you!”
“I—I told my secretary to do what he could. He did get bail for your husband!” faltered Mr. Candover in a tone of some contrition but still more reproach.
“Because I insisted. I followed him about till he did,” retorted Audrey sharply.
“As for myself, I was in Paris. I had to go. I told you so.”
“Paris is not at the other end of the world. And you didn’t even write to him!”
“Mrs. Angmering, you overwhelm me! Allow me to do the best I can to make amends for what indeed was not my fault. Let me do what poor Angmering would like best, and take care of his wife.”
“Thank you. Your kindness comes too late. I can take care of myself.”
And Audrey, now that they had come in sight of the smart motor-car which never failed to attract the attention of a crowd when it stopped, refused her companion’s entreaties that she would get into it, and dashed across the street to an omnibus.
Mr. Candover was disappointed, but he took his disappointment with philosophy. His good intentions might be resented now, but they would be better appreciated some day.