“Will you come into the library? Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you may enjoy your long walk.” Mrs Desmond followed her into the library. Yvonne closed the door almost in the face of Mr Riggs, who had opened his mouth to accept the invitation to tea, but who said he'd “be blasted” instead, so narrow was his escape from having his nose banged. He emphasised the declaration by shaking his fist at the door. The two women faced each other. For the first time since she had known Yvonne Brood, Mrs Desmond observed a high touch of colour in her cheeks. Her beautiful eyes were alive with an excitement she could not conceal. Neither spoke for a moment. “You are accountable for this, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia Desmond's mother sternly, accusingly. She expected a storm of indignant protest. Instead, Yvonne smiled slightly. “It will not hurt my husband to discover that Frederic is a man and not a milksop,” she said, but despite her coolness there was a perceptible note of anxiety in her voice. “You know, then, that they are--that they will quarrel?” “I fancy it was in Frederic's mind to do so when he came here this morning. He was still in his evening clothes, Mrs Desmond.” “Where are they now?” “I think he has them on,” said Yvonne lightly. Mrs Desmond regarded her for a moment in perplexity. Then her eyes flashed dangerously. “I do not think you misunderstood me, Mrs Brood. Where are Frederic and his father?” “I am not accustomed to that tone of voice, Mrs Desmond.” “I am no longer your housekeeper,” said the other succinctly. “You do not realise what this quarrel may mean. I insist on going up to them before it has gone too far.” “My husband can take care of himself, thank you.” “I am not thinking of your husband, but of that poor boy who is------” “And if I am to judge by Frederic's manner this morning, he is also able to take care of himself,” said Yvonne coolly. Her voice shook a little. Mrs Desmond shot a quick glance of comprehension at the speaker. “You are worried, Mrs Brood. Your manner betrays you. I command you to tell me how long they have been upstairs together. How long------” “Will you be so good, Mrs Desmond, as to leave this house instantly?” cried Yvonne angrily. “No,” said the other quietly. “I suppose I am too late to prevent trouble between those two men, but I shall at least remain here to assure Frederic of my sympathy, to help him if I can, to offer him the shelter of my home.” A spasm of alarm crossed Yvonne's face. “Do you really believe it will come to that?” she demanded nervously. “If what I fear should come to pass, he will not stay in this house another hour. He will go forth from it cursing James Brood with all the hatred that his soul can possess. And now, Mrs Brood, shall I tell you what I think of you?”