“I will see who it is,” she said, and arose. Two red spots appeared in his cheeks. Then it was that she realised he had been waiting all along for the bell to ring; he had been expecting a summons. “If it's for me, please say--er--say I'll------” he began, somewhat disjointedly, but she interrupted him. “Will you stay here for luncheon, Frederic? And this afternoon we will go to--oh, is there a concert or a recital------” “Yes, I'll stay if you'll let me,” he said wistfully. “We'll find something to do.” She went to the telephone. He heard the polite greetings, the polite assurances that she had not taken cold, two or three laughing rejoinders to what must have been amusing comments on the storm and its effect on timid creatures, and then: “Yes, Mrs Brood, I will call him to the phone.” CHAPTER XIV Frederic had the feeling that he slunk to the telephone. The girl handed the receiver to him and he met her confident, untroubled gaze for a second. Instead of returning to the sitting-room where she could have heard everything that he said, she went into her own room down the hall and closed the door. He was not conscious of any intention to temporise, but it was significant that he did not speak until the door closed behind her. Afterward he realised and was ashamed. Almost the first words that Yvonne uttered were of a nature to puzzle and irritate him, although they bore directly upon his own previously formed resolution. Her voice, husky and low, seemed strangely plaintive and lifeless to him. “Have you and Lydia made any plans for the afternoon?” she inquired. He made haste to declare their intention to attend a concert. “I am glad you are going to do that,” she went on. “Are you ill, Yvonne?” he queried suddenly. “I? Oh, no. I think I never felt better in my life than I do at this moment. The storm must have blown the cobwebs out of my brain. I believe I'm quite happy to-day, Frederic.” “Aren't you always happy?” he cried chidingly. “What an odd thing to say.” She did not respond to this. “You will stay for luncheon with Lydia?” “Yes. She's trying to pick up that thing of Feverelli's--the one we heard last night.” There was silence at the other end of the wire, “Are you there?” “Yes.” “I'm teaching it to her.” “I see.” “I will be home for dinner, of course. You--you don't need me for anything, do you?” “No,” she said. Then, with a low laugh: “You may be excused for the day, my son.” “What's wrong?” he demanded, lowering his voice. “Wrong? Nothing is wrong. Everything seems right to me. Your father and I have been discussing the trip abroad.” “Is--is it settled?” “Yes. We are to sail on the twenty-fifth--in ten days.” “Settled, eh?” “Yes.” “I thought you--you were opposed to going.” “I've changed my mind. As a matter of fact, I've changed my heart.” “You speak in riddles.” “Your father has gone out to arrange for passage on the _Olympic_. He is lunching at the Lawyers' Club.” “You will lunch alone, then?”