“It is like you to say that!” cried Yvonne. “You are splendid, Lydia. Will you believe me when I tell you that I love you--that I love you very dearly?” Lydia looked at her in some doubt, and not without misgivings. “I should like to believe it,” she said noncommittally. “Ah, but you doubt it. I see. Well, I do not blame you. I have given you much pain, much distress. When I am far away you will be glad--you will be happy. Is not that so?” “But you are coming back,” said Lydia with a frank smile, not meant to be unfriendly. Yvonne's face clouded. “Yes, I shall probably come back. Nothing is sure in this queer world of ours.” She threw her cigarette away. “I don't like it to-day. Ugh! how it tastes in my mouth!” She drew closer to the girl's side. Lydia's nostrils filled with the strange, sweet perfume that she affected, so individually hers, so personally Yvonne. “Oh, yes; I shall come back. Why not? Is not this my home?” “You may call it your home, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia, “but are you quite sure your thoughts always abide here? I mean in the United States, of course.” Yvonne had looked up at her quickly. “Oh, I see. No; I shall never be an American.” Then she abruptly changed the subject. “You have had a nice day with Frederic? You have been happy, both of you?” “Yes--very happy, Mrs Brood,” said the girl simply. “I am glad. You must always be happy, you two. It is my greatest wish.” Lydia hesitated for a moment. “Frederic asked me to be his wife--to-morrow,” she said, and her heart began to thump queerly. She felt that she was approaching a crisis of some sort. “To-morrow?” fell from Yvonne's lips. The word was drawn out, as if in one long breath. Then, to Lydia's astonishment, an extraordinary change came over the speaker. “Yes, yes; it should be--it must be to-morrow. Poor boy--poor, poor boy! You will marry, yes, and go way at once, _aïe?_” Her voice was almost shrill in its intensity, her eyes were wide and eager and--anxious. “I------ Oh, Mrs Brood, is it for the best?” cried Lydia. “Is it the best thing for Frederic to do? I--I feared you might object. I am sure his father will refuse permission------” “But you love each other--that is enough. Why ask the consent of anyone? Yes, yes, it is for the best. I know--oh, you cannot realise how well I know. You must not hesitate.” The woman was trembling in her eagerness. Lydia's astonishment gave way to perplexity. “What do you mean? Why are you so serious--so intent on this------” “Frederic has no money,” pursued Yvonne, as if she had not heard Lydia's words. “But that must not deter you--it must not stand in the way. I shall find a way; yes, I shall find a way. I------” “Do you mean that you would provide for him for us?” exclaimed Lydia. “There is a way, there is a way,” said the other, fixing her eyes appealingly on the girl's face, to which the flush of anger was slowly mounting.