The one thing that might have countered that enigmatic and powerful instinct was a consideration based upon the difference between her age and that of Mr. Gilman.  It is true that she did not know what the difference was, because she did not know Mr. Gilman’s age.  And she could not ask him.  No!  Such is the structure of society that she could not say to Mr. Gilman, “By the way, Mr. Gilman, how old are you?” She could properly ascertain his tastes about all manner of fundamental points, such as the shape of chair-legs, the correct hour for dining, or the comparative merits of diamonds and emeralds; but this trifle of information about his age could not be asked for.  And he did not make her a present of it.  She might have questioned Madame Piriac, but she could not persuade herself to question Madame Piriac either.  However, what did it matter?  Even if she learnt his age to a day, he would still be precisely the same Mr. Gilman.  And let him be as old or as young as he might, she was still his equal in age.  She was far more than six months older than she had been six months ago.

The influence of Madame Piriac through the summer had indirectly matured her.  For above all Madame Piriac had imperceptibly taught her the everlasting joy and duty of exciting the sympathy, admiration and gratitude of the other sex.  Hence Audrey had aged at a miraculous rate because in order to please Mr. Gilman she wished—­possibly without knowing it—­to undo the disparity between herself and him.  This may be strange, but it is assuredly more true than strange.  To the same ends she had concealed her own age.  Nobody except Miss Ingate knew how old she was.  She only made it clear, when doubts seemed to exist, that she had passed her majority long before.  Further, her wealth, magnified by legend, assisted her age.  Not that she was so impressed by her wealth as she had been.  She had met American women in Paris compared to whom she was at destitution’s door.  She knew one woman who had kept a 2,000-ton yacht lying all summer in the outer harbour at Boulogne, and had used it during that period for exactly eleven hours.

Few of these people had an establishment.  They would rent floors in hotels, or chateaux in Touraine, or yachts, but they had no home, and yet they seemed very content and beyond doubt they were very free.  And so Audrey did not trouble about having a home.  She had Moze, which was more than many of her acquaintances had.  She would not use it, but she had it.  And she was content in the knowledge of the power to create a home when she felt inclined to create one.  Not that it would not have been absurd to set about creating a home with Mr. Gilman hanging over her like a destiny.  It would have been rude to him to do so; it would have been to transgress against the inter-sexual code as promulgated by Madame Piriac....  She wondered what sort of a place Meudon was, and whether he would propose to her while they were looking at the view together....  She trembled with the sense of adventure, which had little to do with happiness or unhappiness....  But would he propose to her?  Not improbably the whole conception of the situation was false and she was being ridiculous!