"A painted butterfly!" Audrey's lip curled at the phrase. It exactly described the kind of woman her father's animal nature would be drawn¹ to. In her mind's eye she saw the pathetic figure of her mother trying to recover her faded prettiness with Madame Coralie's assistance, so as to win back a love that required to be stimulated² by mere³ beauty of form and face. And a music-hall artist!  
"Is she respectable?" asked Audrey, suddenly.
 
"Oh, quite," said Mrs. Mellop, laughing artificially. "But I wonder why you ask?"
 
"Oh, I merely heard her name," answered Audrey, quietly. "Why do you laugh?"
 
Mrs. Mellop tried to stop tittering. "Oh, my dear, I can see it all," she said gaily⁴; "your face betrays you. To think that he should run after her!"
 
"He? Who?" asked Audrey, drawing up her slight figure, and wincing⁵ at the thought that this gossiping woman was about to pronounce her father's name.
 
"Why, Mr. Shawe, of course."
 
"Mr. Shawe!" The girl grew violently red. "He doesn't run after Miss Pearl."
 
"Oh, I know he loves you, dear," said the widow, in a tantalising way. "Anyone can see that when he's in the room, and everyone knows that he is as good as engaged to you, although your father won't hear of your marrying the poor man. But"--she made a gesture of contempt--"he's a man after all."
 
"Have you any ground to say that Mr. Shawe runs after--"
 
"Only your face, dear, and your strong desire to know about Miss Pearl."
 
"If that is all," said Audrey, with quiet scorn, "you can exonerate⁶ Ralph from being an admirer of Miss Pearl. I know that he is true to me."
 
"And you call him Ralph," said her visitor, glibly⁷; "my dear, what will your father say? He wants you to marry Lord Anvers."
 
"What! That puny⁸ little racing⁹ man? He has never said anything to me about it, Mrs. Mellop, and if he does I shall certainly refuse to entertain the idea. And since you have hinted that all the world knows my business," she went on, looking the widow straight in the face, "you can inform everyone, on my authority, that I intend to marry Mr. Shawe, and that we are engaged."
 
"With your father's consent, dear?"
 
"Never mind." Audrey was glad to see that Mrs. Mellop's attention had been taken off the name of Rosy¹⁰ Pearl, as she did not want, for obvious reasons, to talk about the lady. "My father and I understand one another."
 
"Oh, I dare say, dear; but do your father and Mr. Shawe understand one another? I'm sure I hope so, as it means so much money to Mr. Shawe."
 
"Ralph marries me for myself, and not for my money," said the girl, hotly.
 
"No doubt, dear; but he's got an eye to the main chance, like the rest of us."
 
Audrey again looked straightly at the pretty, artificial, frivolous¹¹ face. "I think not," she said coolly; "Ralph is not like other men."
 
"Ah!"--Mrs. Mellop became serious--"we all think men are angels until we marry them, dear. And this Rosy Pearl attracts--"
 
"She doesn't attract Ralph," interrupted Miss Branwin, resolutely¹², and saw the necessity of drawing another red herring across the trail. "I told you that I merely asked about her because the name had struck my fancy. And now I have to give you a message from my father."
 
"Yes, dear?" said Mrs. Mellop, anxiously; for now that Sir Joseph was a widower¹³ she had a sudden vision of possible matrimony.
 
"He has gone to Brighton for a week or so, since the doctor has ordered him the sea air. He told me to ask you to chaperon me while he was absent, as he does not like the idea of my being alone. But I am afraid you will find it rather dull here. I am in mourning, you know."
 
The widow gasped¹⁴ with delight. That Sir Joseph should select her from amongst all his friends to stay at Camden Hill as a temporary companion to his only daughter surely showed that he took a deep interest in her; and such interest could only mean that marriage-- "Oh," cried Mrs. Mellop, shutting her eyes to conjure¹⁵ up more clearly the golden vision, "how sweet of you! I like a quiet time, as my poor husband did not leave me very well off, and it is so expensive to go about in London; besides, your darling mother was a good friend to me, and my heart is wrung¹⁶."
 
Audrey knew perfectly¹⁷ well that Lady Branwin had been a very good friend indeed to Mrs. Mellop, who was something of a parasite¹⁸, and knew also that the lady's heart was not wrung in the least. She had used the phrase because it sounded well, and because she wished to ingratiate herself with the heiress. Not that Mrs. Mellop was a bad-hearted woman. She was simply frivolous and incapable¹⁹ of feeling any deep emotion. In her own silly way she had been attached to the late Lady Branwin, because she had found her a useful friend. In the same way she was prepared to lavish²⁰ her shallow affections on Audrey.
 
Mrs. Mellop duly arrived with many boxes, and was given a charming suite²¹ of apartments, luxuriously²³ furnished with all that civilisation²⁴ could provide in the way of comfort. Certainly the life was somewhat quiet, as Audrey rarely left the grounds, and even when in the house preferred to be alone with her books and music. But the surroundings were costly²⁵, the food was excellent, and there were innumerable servants ready to obey the widow's beck and call. Mrs. Mellop, during her three weeks' stay, felt that she was already the wife of the millionaire, and took advantage of the opportunity to go out daily in one of the luxurious²² motor-cars to shop extensively and run up many bills, on the assumption that Sir Joseph would certainly pay them when he proposed. And the shopkeepers, who hitherto had been rather shy of the pretty little widow, trusted her readily when they knew that she was chaperoning Miss Branwin, and saw that she used Sir Joseph's up-to-date vehicles. Also, she might have dropped a hint or two that she had come to stay at the Camden Hill house. But, at all events, during that halcyon²⁶ time Mrs. Mellop assuredly gathered together a wardrobe and a quantity of jewellery which stood her in good service afterwards when the gates of this millionaire Eden closed behind her. But as yet she never believed that they would close; or, if they did, that she would be within as the second Lady Branwin.
 
Meanwhile, since the chaperon was discreet²⁷, and Sir Joseph was at the seaside, Audrey saw a great deal of Ralph. Because of her mourning for her mother she could not meet him as usual in Kensington Gardens; but he came to afternoon tea, and sometimes to dinner. Mrs. Mellop, only too anxious to get Audrey married, so that she could prosecute²⁸ her matrimonial plans when the millionaire returned, was rarely present at these meetings, or if she was speedily got out of the way on the plea of fatigue²⁹, or that she had to write letters. Audrey might have had no chaperon, so far as Mrs. Mellop was concerned, and it was evident that the little widow had taken the hint given by the girl at that first candid³⁰ interview. But Mrs. Mellop wrote Sir Joseph gushing³¹ letters about his sweet child, without mentioning the almost constant presence of the young barrister.
 
Audrey and Ralph did not talk like lovers now. The girl was consumed by a fierce desire to hunt down the assassin of her mother, and talked of little else but the chance of tracing the murderer. Ralph assured her that he had kept in touch with Inspector³² Lanton and with the police generally, to say nothing of his frequent visits to the detectives at Scotland Yard. "But nothing can be found out," said the barrister, sadly.
 
"Something must be found out," cried Audrey at the last of these interviews; "and if the police fail we must succeed."
 
"But your father--"
 
Audrey made a gesture of contempt. "My father thinks that he has done his duty by offering this thousand pounds' reward. He will not lift a finger to find the assassin of my poor mother. He is glad she is dead."
 
"Oh! surely not," remarked Ralph, rather shocked by this blunt speech.
 
"Surely yes," said the girl, bitterly. "I did not tell you before, Ralph, because I was ashamed to tell you, but my father is going to marry again."
 
Shawe was startled. "Mrs. Mellop?" he asked, after a bewildered pause.
 
"No. Although his mere invitation to Mrs. Mellop that she should be my chaperon has caused her to entertain ideas of marriage. Do you know Rosy Pearl?"
 
"The music-hall dancer? Yes."
 
"Well, she is to be the future Lady Branwin."
 
"Oh! Audrey," cried Shawe, greatly astonished, "you must be mistaken."
 
"I had the information from my father's own lips," insisted Audrey. "What do you know of this woman?"
 
"Very little. She is a handsome woman in the style of Juno, and is a wonderful dancer. I heard that Sir Joseph had been paying attentions to her, but I did not dream that he contemplated³³ marriage with her."
 
"He does, then. Mrs. Mellop calls her a painted butterfly."
 
"She's a very substantial butterfly," said Shawe, with the ghost of a smile; for Audrey was too much in earnest to tolerate lightness of any sort. "And I believe she is rather a respectable woman."
 
"Such a woman as should stand in the place of my dead mother?" asked Audrey, looking searchingly at his face.
 
"No," rejoined Ralph, promptly³⁴. "And yet I can't say that I have heard a word against Rosy Pearl. I simply mean that you would not like one who had been a dancer to be your stepmother."
 
"I certainly should not," said Audrey, decisively; "and yet if I object, my father--as he hinted--is quite capable of turning me out of doors. He will do that in any case, unless I marry Lord Anvers."
 
"What!" Shawe flushed. "That little reptile³⁵, who--"
 
"I know a great deal about him," said Audrey, cutting him short, "and I do not wish to hear any more. I shall leave this house rather than marry him, and rather than see this Pearl woman occupying my mother's place."
 
"Come to me, darling," said Ralph, holding out his arms. "Let us get married at once and defy your father."
 
"I should lose my money then, dear."
 
"Oh, what does that matter? I want you and not your money."
 
"Dear"--she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked deeply into his keen grey eyes, now filled with the love-light--"I am too fond of you to allow you to ruin yourself for my sake."
 
"Ruin myself"--his arms slipped round her waist, and he placed his cheek against hers--"how could you do that, you silly darling?"
 
"Very easily," she replied, in a tired voice; for all she had gone through was wearing her out. "You have just enough money to get along with, as a bachelor. But what is enough for one is not enough for two, in spite of the proverb. If I married you in haste we should both repent³⁶ at leisure. Not only would we be poor, but my father, being thwarted³⁷, would do his best to hinder you."
 
"He could not do that," declared Shawe, who believed that he was capable of defying the world, much less Sir Joseph.
 
"Oh, yes, he could, and he would. He would use his money and his influence to prevent any solicitor³⁸ giving you a brief. He would turn people against you, and would give you a bad name. I know my father's hard nature, and his pertinacious³⁹ way of following up things. My poor mother told me how he had ruined and disgraced several people who had crossed his path."
 
Ralph pushed her slightly away from him, and taking her hands looked into her eyes. "And do you think that I am ready to give you up because your father would act in this way?" he demanded. "I am not afraid of Sir Joseph, or of any man. Two people can play at every game, and if your father tries to crush me, he will find that I am not a man to be cast out of his path. If he has money, I have brains, and I am quite willing to pit my intellect against his wealth. Hang Sir Joseph, and a dozen like him; I beg your pardon, dear, for, after all, he is your father."
 
"A father in name only," said Audrey, admiring her lover's indignation, which was righteous and masterful in her eyes. "You know what I think of him, Ralph. I wish I had a better opinion of his nature, but my experience and my mother's experience--what she has told me--show that my father is a hard man with a strong will. He does not care what anyone suffers so long as he gets his way. The mere fact that he has already decided⁴⁰ to marry again--and marry a music-hall artist--shows how callous⁴¹ he is. It's like Hamlet's mother," ended Audrey, bitterly, "with the funeral baked meats not yet cold, as in the play."
 
Ralph took a turn up and down the room, with a frowning brow and looking deeply perplexed⁴². "What's to be done, then?" he demanded, stopping before the girl. "Things can't go on in this way. You won't marry me--"
 
"For your own sake I won't marry you at present," interpolated the girl.
 
"Audrey, you say that your father intends to marry Rosy Pearl as soon as he possibly can without shocking public opinion. When he does, you can't stay in the house, as you declare, and also you say that you will not marry Lord Anvers. Your father, so you tell me, is bound to turn you out if you refuse to obey him, so it seems to me that the evil day is only postponed⁴³ for a few months."
 
"I daresay, Ralph. But much may happen in a few months. For one thing, we--you and I--may find out who killed my mother. And even if you had money and could offer me a home, I should refuse to marry you until that truth comes to light."
 
"But it's impossible, and, after all, can do little good."
 
"It's not impossible, and can at least punish the assassin. No one but myself cares for my poor mother's memory, and I must avenge⁴⁴ her death. Come, dear"--she placed her arms round his neck--"you will be my knight-errant?"
 
"Yes," said Ralph, promptly, and kissed her. "But where shall I begin?"
 
"Begin?" replied Audrey, seriously. "Begin at Madame Coralie's--at the Pink Shop."
 
"At the Pink Shop?" repeated her lover. "Good! I shall start to-morrow."