“Naturally.” He suppressed an impulse. “I'm sorry, Yvonne.” She was silent for a long time. “Frederic, I want you to do something for me.” “I--I've promised Lydia to stay here------” “Oh, it isn't that. Will you try to convince Lydia that I meant no offence last night when I------” “She understands all that perfectly, Yvonne.” “No, she doesn't. A woman _wouldn't_ understand.” “I will square everything,” he said. “It means a great deal to me,” “In what way?” There was a pause. “No woman likes to be regarded as a fool,” she said at last, apparently after careful reflection. “Oh, yes; there is something else. We are dining out this evening.” “You and I?” he asked, after a moment. “Certainly not. Your father and I. I was about to suggest that you dine with Lydia--or, better still, ask her over here to share your dinner with you.” He was scowling. “Where are you going?” “Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,” slowly, deliberately, “we thought it would be great fun to dine alone at Delmonico's and see a play afterward.” “Just--you and father?” “We two--no more.” “How cunning,” he sneered. “Will you ask Lydia to dine with you?” “No.” “Perhaps you will go out somewhere?” “I'll have dinner with Mr Dawes and------” “That would be jolly. They will be pleased. A sort of--what do you call it--a sort of reunion, eh?” “Are you making sport of me?” he demanded angrily. “But no! It will be making sport for the old gentleman, though, _aïe?_ And now _au revoir!_ You will surely convince Lydia that I love her? I am troubled. You will------” “What play are you going to see?” he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco production. “Well, I hope you enjoy it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the governor to-day? In a good humour?” There was no response. He waited for a moment and then called out: “Are you there?”. “Good-bye,” came back over the wire. He started, as if she had given him a slap in the face. Her voice was cold and forbidding. When Lydia rejoined him in the sitting-room he was standing at the window, staring across the courtyard far below. “Are you going?” she asked steadily. He turned toward her, conscious of the tell-tale scowl that was passing from his brow. It did not occur to him to resent her abrupt, uncompromising question. As a matter of fact, it seemed quite natural that she should put the question in just that way, flatly, incisively. He considered himself, in a way, to be on trial. “No, I'm not,” he replied. “You did not expect me to forget, did you?” He was uncomfortable under her honest, inquiring gaze. A sullen anger against himself took possession of him. He despised himself for the feeling of loneliness and homesickness that suddenly came over him. “I thought------” she began, and then her brow cleared. “I have been looking up the recitals in the morning paper. The same orchestra you heard last night is to appear again to-day at------”