“He is not--not in love with me,” declared Yvonne, “No,” said the girl, regaining control of herself, “he is not in love with you. That is the whole trouble. He is in love with me. But--but can't you see?” “You are a wise young woman to know men so well,” said the other enigmatically. “I have never believed in St Anthony.” “Nor I,” said Lydia, and was surprised at herself. “I prefer to put my faith in the women who tempted him,” said Yvonne, drawing a little closer to the girl. “Perhaps you are right. They at least were not pretending.” “I am not so sure of that. At any rate, they succeeded in making a saint of him eventually.” “I suppose you are undertaking a similar office in--in Frederic's behalf,” said Lydia with fine irony. “Do you consider me to be a bad woman, Lydia?” Her lips trembled. There was a suspicious quiver to her chin. “No; I do not,” pronounced the girl flatly. “If I could only think that of you it would explain everything, and I should know just how to treat you. But I do not think it of you.” With a long, deep sigh Yvonne crept closer and laid her head against Lydia's shoulder. The girl's body stiffened, her brow grew dark with annoyance. “I am afraid you do not understand, Mrs Brood. The fact still remains that you have not considered Frederic's peace of mind.” “Nor yours,” murmured the other. “Nor mine,” confessed Lydia, after a moment. “I did not know that you and Frederic were in love with each other until I had been here for some time,” Mrs Brood explained, suddenly fretful. Lydia stared hard at the soft white cheek that lay exposed below the black crown of hair. “What had that to do with it?” “A great deal more than you can imagine,” said the other, looking up into Lydia's face with a curious gleam in her eyes. “You admit, then, that you deliberately------” “I admit nothing, except that I am sorry to have made you unhappy.” “What kind of a woman are you?” burst out Lydia's indignant soul. “Have you no conception of the finer, nobler------” Yvonne deliberately put her hand over the girl's lips, checking the fierce outburst. She smiled rather plaintively as Lydia tried to jerk her head to one side in order to continue her reckless indictment. “You shall not say it, Lydia. I am not all that you think I am. No, no; a thousand times no. God pity me, I am more accursed than you may think with the finer and nobler instincts. If it were not so, do you think I should be where I am now--cringing here like a beaten child? No, you cannot understand--you never will understand. I shall say no more. It is ended. I swear on my soul that I did not know you were Frederic's sweetheart. I did not know------” “But you knew almost immediately after you came here!” exclaimed Lydia harshly. “It is not myself I am thinking of, Mrs Brood, but of Frederic. Why have you done this abominable thing to him? Why?”