She paused for a moment, and it was Geoffrey who, growing curious at this change in her manner, suddenly put in, half-insolently, half-inquiringly:—
“Well, if you are not Madame Rocada, who are you then?”
Audrey hesitated one moment more only. Then very quietly, very solemnly, fixing her eyes on the face of the elder brother and drawing herself up to her full height, she answered:—
“My name is the same as your own. I am Audrey Angmering, your cousin Gerard’s wife.”
“The devil you are!” cried Geoffrey, more in amusement than surprise.
But the other saw that there was no pretentiousness, no show of indignation or of self-assertion, in the poor lady’s manner, and he silenced his brother by a frown and a curt word half under his breath.
“Do you mean that?” he asked simply.
“Yes. And listen. I know that Gerard is here: I’ve seen him. And I want to understand all about his coming—about his illness. I—I hadn’t even heard of it.”
The young man hesitated. Geoffrey was pulling furtively at his sleeve, mutely urging him to have nothing to do with the unhappy woman and her story.
Evidently Edgar did not know what to believe.