Still the nice constraint persisted as the women began to put on their gloves, while Mr. Gilman had a word with the chief priest.  And Audrey had the illusion of being a dedicated victim.  As she self-consciously and yet proudly handled her gloves she could not help but notice the simple gold wedding-ring on a certain finger.  She had never removed it.  She had never formally renounced her claim to the status of a widow.  That she was not a widow, that she had been guilty of a fraud on a gullible public, was somehow generally known; but the facts were not referred to, save perhaps in rare hints by Tommy, and she had continued to be known as Mrs. Moncreiff.  Ignominious close to a daring enterprise!  And in the circumstances nothing was more out of place than the ring, bought in cold, wilful, calculating naughtiness at Colchester.

Just when Miss Ingate was beginning to discuss her own plans for the afternoon, Mr. Price entered the restaurant, and as he did so Miss Thompkins, saying something about the small type on the poster outside, went to the window to examine it.  Mr. Price, disguised as a discreet dandy-about-town, bore a parcel of music.  He removed a most glossy hat; he bowed to the whole company of ladies, who responded with smiles in which was acknowledge that he was a dandy in addition to being a secretary; and lastly with deference he handed the parcel of music to Mr. Gilman.

“So you did get it!  What did I tell you?” said Mr. Gilman with negligent condescension.  “A minute later, and we should have been gone....  Has Mr. Price got this right?” he asked Audrey, putting the music respectfully in front of her.

It included the reduced score of the Beethoven violin concerto, and other items to be performed that night at the Salle Xavier.

“Oh!  Thank you, Mr. Price!” said Audrey.  The music was so fresh and glossy and luscious to the eye that it was like a gift of fruit.

“That’ll do, then, Price,” said Mr. Gilman.  “Don’t forget about those things for to-night, will you?”

“No, sir.  I have a note of all of them.”

Mr. Price bowed and turned away, assuming his perfect hat.  As he approached the door Tommy intercepted him; and said something to him in a low voice, to which he uncomfortably mumbled a reply.  As they had admittedly been friends in Mr. Price’s artistic days, exception could not be taken to this colloquy.  Nevertheless Audrey, being as suspicious as a real widow, regarded it ill, thinking all manner of things.  And when Tommy, humming, came back to her seat on Mr. Gilman’s left hand, Audrey thought:  “And why, after all, should she be on his left hand?  It is of course proper that I should be on his right, but why should Tommy be on his left?  Why not Madame Piriac or Miss Ingate?”

“And what am I going to do this afternoon?” demanded Miss Ingate, lengthening the space between her nose and her upper lip, and turning down the corners of her lower lip.