“Not entirely, I believe,” said Rosamund.  “Certainly not entirely.  But of course I could never trust her again.  This is the worst blow I have ever had.  She says—­but why go into that?  Well, she does say she will work as hard as ever, nearly; and that her future husband strongly supports us—­and so on.”  Rosamund smiled with complete detachment.

“And who’s he?” Audrey demanded.

“His name is Aguilar,” said Rosamund.  “So she says.”

“Aguilar?”

“Yes.  I gather—­I say I gather—­that he belongs to the industrial class.  But of course that is precisely the class that Jane springs from.  Odd!  Is it not?  Heredity, I presume.”  She raised her shoulders.

Audrey said nothing.  She was too shocked to speak—­not pained or outraged, but simply shaken.  What in the name of Juno could Jane see in Aguilar?  Jane, to whom every man was the hereditary enemy!  Aguilar, who had no use for either man or woman!  Aguilar, a man without a Christian name, one of those men in connection with whom a Christian name is impossibly ridiculous.  How should she, Audrey, address Aguilar in future?  Would he have to be asked to tea?  These vital questions naturally transcended all others in Audrey’s mind....  Still (she veered round), it was perhaps after all just the union that might have been expected.

“And now,” said Rosamund at length, “I have a question to put to you.”

“Well?”

“I don’t want a definite answer here and now.”  She looked round disdainfully at the foyer.  “But I do want to set your mind on the right track at the earliest possible moment—­before any accidents occur.”  She smiled satirically.  “You see how frank I am with you.  I’ll be more frank still, and tell you that I came to this concert to-night specially to see you.”

“Did you?” Audrey murmured.  “Well!”

The older woman looked down upon her from a superior height.  Her eyes were those of an autocrat.  It was quite possible to see in them the born leader who had dominated thousands of women and played a drawn game with the British Government itself.  But Audrey, at the very moment when she was feeling the overbearing magic of that gaze, happened to remember the scene in Madame Piriac’s automobile on the night of her first arrival in Paris, when she herself was asleep and Rosamund, not knowing that she was asleep, had been solemnly addressing her.  Miss Ingate’s often repeated account of the scene always made her laugh, and the memory of it now caused her to smile faintly.

“I want to suggest to you,” Rosamund proceeded, “that you begin to work for me.”

“For the suffrage—­or for you?”

“It is the same thing,” said Rosamund coldly.  “I am the suffrage.  Without me the cause would not have existed to-day.”

“Well,” said Audrey, “of course I will.  I have done a bit already, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Rosamund admitted.  “You did very well at the Blue City.  That’s why I’m approaching you.  That’s why I’ve chosen you.”