“Don't be frightened, dear. It's got to be, that's all. It might as well be ended now as later on. The last straw was laid on to-night. Now don't ask questions. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, sweetheart. I've--I've told you that I can't stick to my promise. You'll understand. I couldn't rest until I'd told you and heard your dear voice. Forgive me for calling you up. Tell your mother I'm sorry. Good night!” “Freddy, listen to me! You must wait until I------ Oh!” He had hung up the receiver. She heard the whir of the open wire. There was little comfort for her in the hope held out by her mother as they sat far into the night and discussed the possibilities of the day so near at hand. She could see nothing but disaster, and she could think of nothing but her own lamentable weakness in shrinking from the encounter that might have made the present situation impossible. Between them mother and daughter constructed at random a dozen theories as to the nature of the fresh complication that had entered into the already serious situation, and always it was Lydia who advanced the most sickening of conjectures. Nor was it an easy matter for Mrs Desmond to combat these fears. In her heart she felt that an irreparable break had occurred and that the final clash was imminent. She tried to make light of the situation, however, prophesying a calmer attitude for Frederic after he had slept over his grievance, which, after all, she argued was doubtless exaggerated. She promised to go with Lydia to see James Brood in the morning, and to plead with him to be merciful to the boy she was to marry, no matter what transpired. The girl at first insisted on going over to see him that night, notwithstanding the hour, and was dissuaded only after the most earnest opposition. It was four o'clock before they went back to bed, and long after five before either closed her eyes. Mrs Desmond, utterly exhausted, was the first to awake. She glanced at the little clock on her dressing-table and gave a great start of consternation. It was long past nine o'clock. She arose at once and hurried to her daughter's door, half expecting to find the room empty and the girl missing from the apartment. But Lydia was lying there sound asleep. Mrs Desmond's lips parted to give voice to a gentle call, but it was never uttered. A feeling of infinite pity for the tired, harassed girl came over her. For a long time she stood there watching the gentle rise and fall of the sleeper's breast. Then she closed the door softly and stole back to her own room, inspired by a sudden resolve. While she was dressing the little maid-servant brought in her coffee and toast and received instructions not to awaken Miss Lydia but to let her have her sleep out. A few minutes later she left the apartment and walked briskly around the corner to Brood's home.