“I’m sorry I was so long answering the bell, m’m,” replied Aguilar strangely.  “But I’d put my list slippers on—­them as your father made me wear when I come into the house, mornings, to change the plants, and I thought it better to put my boots on again before I come....  Shall I put the keys back in the doors, madam?”

So saying he touched his front hair, after his manner, and took the keys and retired.  Audrey was as full of fear as of gratitude.  Aguilar daunted her.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE THIRD SORT OF WOMAN

“It was quite true what I told the detective.  So I suppose you’ve finished with me for evermore!” Audrey burst out recklessly, as soon as she and Madame Piriac were alone together.  The supreme moment had come, and she tried to grasp it like a nettle.  Her adventurous rashness was, she admitted, undeniable.  She had spoken the truth to the police officer about her identity and her spinsterhood because with unusual wisdom she judged that fibs or even prevarication on such a subject to such an audience might entangle her in far more serious difficulties later on.  Moreover, with Inspector Keeble present, she could not successfully have gone very far from the truth.  It was a pity that Madame Piriac had witnessed the scene, for really, when Audrey came to face it, the deception which she had practised upon Madame Piriac was of a monstrous and inexcusable kind.  And now that Madame Piriac knew the facts, many other people would have to know the facts—­including probably Mr. Gilman.  The prospect of explanations was terrible.  In vain Audrey said to herself that the thing was naught, that she had acted within her rights, and that anyhow she had long ago ceased to be diffident and shy!...  She was intimidated by her own enormities.  And she also thought:  “How could I have been silly enough to tell that silly tale about the Spatts?  More complications.  And poor dear Inspector Keeble will be so shocked.”

After a short pause Madame Piriac replied, in a grave but kind tone: 

“Why would you that I should have finished with you for ever?  You had the right to call yourself by any name you wished, and to wear any ring-that pleased your caprice.  It is the affair of nobody but yourself.”

“Oh!  I’m so glad you take it like that,” said Audrey with eager relief.  “That’s just what I thought all along!”

“But it is your affair!” Madame Piriac finished, with a peculiar inflection of her well-controlled voice.  “I mean,” she added, “you cannot afford to neglect it.”

“No—­of course not,” Audrey agreed, rather dashed, and with a vague new apprehension.  “Naturally I shall tell you everything, darling.  I had my reasons.  I——­”

“The principal question is, darling,” Madame Piriac stopped her.  “What are you going to do now?  Ought we not to return to the yacht?”

“But I must look after Jane Foley!” cried Audrey.  “I can’t leave her here.”