Audrey had the weight of all the world on her, and so long as she was alone she permitted herself to look as though she had.  She had to be wise, not only for Audrey Moze, but for others.  She had to be wise for Musa, whose failure, though the newspapers all spoke (at about twenty francs a line) of his overwhelming success, was admittedly lamentable; and she hated Musa; she confessed that she had been terribly mistaken in Musa, both as an artist and as a man; still, he was on her mind.  She had to be wise about her share in the new campaign of Rosamund, which, while not on her mind, was on her conscience.  She had to be wise about the presumable loss of her fortune; she had telegraphed to Mr. Foulger early that morning for information, and an answer was now due.  Finally she had to be wise for Mr. Gilman, whose happiness depended on a tone of her voice, on a single monosyllable breathed through those rich lips.  She looked forward with interest to being wise for Mr. Gilman.  She felt capable of that.  The other necessary wisdoms troubled her brow.  She seemed to be more full of responsibility and sagacity than any human being could have been expected to be.  She was, however, very calm.  Her calmness was prodigious.

Then the bell rang, and she could hear one of the hotel attendants open the outer door with his key.  Instantly her calmness, of which she had been so proud, was dashed to pieces and she had scarcely begun in a hurry to pick the pieces up and put them together again when the attendant entered the drawing-room.  She was afraid, but she thought she was happy.

Only it was not Mr. Gilman the attendant announced.  The man said: 

“Mademoiselle Nickall.”

Audrey said to herself that she must get Nick very quickly away.  She was in no humour to talk even to Nick, and, moreover, she did not want Nick to know that Mr. Gilman was calling upon her.

Miss Nickall was innocent and sweet.  Good nature radiated from her soft, tired features, and was somehow also entangled in her fluffy grey hair.  She kissed Audrey with affection.

“I’ve just come to say good-bye, you dear!” she said, sitting down and putting her check parasol across her knees.  “How lovely you look!”

“Good-bye?” Audrey questioned.  “Do I?”

“I have to cross for England to-night.  I’ve had my orders.  Rosamund came this morning.  What about yours?”

“Oh!” said Audrey.  “I don’t take orders.  But I expect I shall join in, one of these days, when I’ve had everything explained to me properly.  You see, you and I haven’t got the same tastes, Nick.  You aren’t happy without a martyrdom.  I am.”

Nick smiled gravely and uncertainly.

“It’s very serious this time,” said she.  “Hasn’t Rosamund spoken to you yet?”

“She’s spoken to me.  And I’ve spoken to her.  It was deuce, I should say.  Or perhaps my ’vantage.  Anyhow, I’m not moving just yet.”