To Audrey, however, this was a matter of no moment. The statement remained uncontradicted, the awful accusation of her having been a party to, or in some way concerned in, the death of a man.
With this in her mind, she did not appear to hear or understand this second speech, but, as soon as she had recovered herself a little, went straight back to the first.
“What you say of me is wholly untrue,” she said in a low, breathless voice. “My name——” Suddenly a flood of blushes suffused her pale face. How could she tell him what her name was? How introduce to the already indignant and reproachful visitor the knowledge that she was the wife of the nephew whom he no doubt believed to be a forger and a swindler? After a short pause she went on, while he waited quietly for her without interruption: “I have nev——”
She stopped again.
“Do you mean to say you have never been to Paris?” asked the viscount, less harshly, but still with evident incredulity.
Audrey raised her head in desperation.
“No. I did not mean that. I have been in Paris. I was there last winter.”
Her voice faltered, for she remembered the joy of that merry time. She and Gerard had spent part of their honeymoon there.
After another pause she went on:—
“But I have never kept a gaming-house, I do not keep one now. I have never heard of your friend Grey. I have never had a hand in anybody’s death. Your accusation is absurd. As for your sons, I do not want them here. They were brought here, without any invitation from me, by one of my acquaintances. They shall never come here again. And my name is not Madame Rocada. That is merely a trade name, and is not even of my own choosing.”