Yvonne seemed to have paused to catch her breath. Her breast heaved convulsively, the grip of her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. Suddenly she resumed her recital, but her voice was hoarse and tremulous. “I was terribly frightened. I thought of calling out to Jones, but I--I had no voice! Ah, you have never seen two angry men waiting to spring at each other's throats, Mrs Desmond. My husband suddenly regained control of himself. He was very calm. 'Come with me,' he said to Frederic. 'This is not the place to wash our filthy family linen. You say you want something to be proud of. Well, you shall have your wish. Come to my study.' And they went away together, neither speaking a word to me--they did not even glance in my direction. They went up the stairs. I heard the door close behind them--away up there. That was half an hour ago. I have been waiting, too--waiting as you are waiting now--to comfort Frederic when he comes out of that room a wreck.” Mrs Desmond started up, an incredulous look in her eyes. “You are taking his side? You are against your husband? Oh, now I know the kind of woman you are. I know------” “Peace! You do not know the kind of woman I am. You will never know. Yes, I shall take sides with Frederic.” “You do not love your husband!” A strange, unfathomable smile came into Yvonne's face and stayed there. Mrs Desmond experienced the same odd feeling she had had years ago on first seeing the Sphinx. She was suddenly confronted by an unsolvable mystery. “He shall not drive me out of his house, Mrs Desmond,” was her answer to the challenge. A door slammed in the upper regions of the house. Both women started to their feet. “It is over,” breathed Yvonne with a tremulous sigh. “We shall see how well they were able to take care of themselves, Mrs Brood,” said Mrs Desmond in a low voice. “We shall see--yes,” said the other mechanically. Suddenly she turned on the tall, accusing figure beside her. “Go away! Go now! I command you to go. This is _our_ affair, Mrs Desmond. You are not needed here. You were too late, as you say. I beg of you, go!” She strode swiftly toward the door. As she was about to place her hand on the knob it was opened from the other side, and Ranjab stood before them. “_Sahib_ begs to be excused, Mrs Desmond. He is just going out.” “Going out?” cried Yvonne, who had shrunk back into the room. “Yes, _sahibah_. You will please excuse, Mrs Desmond. He regret very much.” Mrs Desmond passed slowly through the door, which he held open for her. As she passed by the Hindu she looked full into his dark, expressive eyes, and there was a question in hers. He did not speak, but she read the answer as if it were on a printed page. Her shoulders drooped. She went back to Lydia. CHAPTER XVII