s silent.

Just as she was opening the door to go upstairs, Audrey suddenly turned
back into the room.

"Darling," she said, kissing Madame Piriac. "How calmly you've taken it!"

"Taken what?"

"About me not being Mrs. Moncreiff nor a widow nor anything of that kind."

"But, darling," answered Madame Piriac with exquisite tranquillity. "Of
course I knew it before."

"You knew it before!"

"Certainly. I knew it the first time I saw you, in the studio of
Mademoiselle Nickall. You were the image of your father! The image, I
repeat--except perhaps the nose. Recollect that as a child I saw your
father. I was left with my mother's relatives, until matters should be
arranged; but he came to Paris. Then before matters could be arranged my
mother died, and I never saw him again. But I could never forget him....
Then also, in my boudoir that night, you blushed--it was very amusing--when
I mentioned Essex and Audrey Moze. And there were other things."

"For instance?"

"Darling, you were never quite convincing as a widow--at any rate to a
Frenchwoman. You may have deceived American and English women. But not
myself. You did not say the convincing things when the conversation took
certain turns. That is all."

"You knew who I was, and you never told me!" Audrey pouted.

"Had I the right, darling? You had decided upon your identity. It would
have been inexcusable on my part to inform you that you were mistaken in so
essential a detail."

Madame Piriac gently returned Audrey's kiss.

"So that was why you insisted on me coming with you to-day!" murmured
Audrey, crestfallen. "You are a marvellous actress, darling."

"I have several times been told so," Madame Piriac admitted simply.

"What on earth did you expect would happen?"

"Not that which has happened," said Madame Piriac.

"Well, if you ask me," said Audrey with gaiety and a renewal of
self-confidence. "I think it's all happened splendidly."

CHAPTER XXXVI

IN THE DINGHY

When the pair got back to the sea-wall the tide had considerably ebbed, and
where the dinghy had floated there was nothing more liquid than exquisitely
coloured mud. Nevertheless water still lapped the yacht, whereas on the
shore side of the yacht was now no crowd. The vans and carts had all
departed, and the quidnuncs and observers of human nature, having gazed
steadily at the yacht for some ten hours, had thought fit to depart also.
The two women looked about rather anxiously,