“I _am_ sorry for you, James Brood,” she murmured, suddenly relaxing. Her body swayed against the table, and then she sank limply into the chair alongside. “Yvonne!” “You will never forget that you struck a man who was asleep, absolutely asleep, James Brood. That's why I am sorry for you.” “Asleep!” he murmured, putting his hand to his eyes. “Yes, yes--he was asleep! Yvonne, I--I have never been so near to loving him as I am now. I--I------” “I am going up to him. Don't try to stop me. But first let me ask you a question. What did Frederic say when you told him his mother was was what you claim?” Brood lowered his head. “He said that I was a cowardly liar.” “And it was then that you began to feel that you loved him. Ah, I see what it is that you need, James. You are a great, strong man, a wonderful man in spite of all this. You have a heart--a heart that still needs breaking before you can ever hope to be happy.” “As if my heart hasn't already been broken,” he groaned. “Your head has been hurt, that's all. There is a vast difference. Are you going out?” He looked at her in dull amazement. Slowly he began to pull himself together. “Yes. I think you should go to him. I--I gave him an hour to--to------” “To get out?” “Yes. He must go, you see. See him, if you will. I shall not oppose you. Find out what he expects to do.” She passed swiftly by him as he started toward the door. In the hall, which was bright with the sunlight from the upper windows, she turned to face him. To his astonishment her cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright with eagerness. She seemed almost radiant. “Yes; it needs breaking, James,” she said, and went up the stairs, leaving him standing there dumbfounded. Near the top she began to hum a blithe tune. It came down to him distinctly--the weird little air that had haunted him for years--Feverelli's! CHAPTER XVIII To Brood's surprise she came half-way down the steps again, and, leaning over the railing, spoke to him with a voice full of irony. “Will you be good enough to call off your spy, James?” “What do you mean?” He had started to put on his light overcoat. “I think you know,” she said briefly. “Do you consider me so mean, so infamous as------” he began hotly. “Nevertheless, I feel happier when I know he is out of the house. Call off your dog, James.” He smothered an execration and then called out harshly to Jones: “Ask Ranjab to attend me here, Jones. He is to go out with me,” he said to the butler a moment later. Yvonne was still leaning over the banister, a scornful smile on her lips. “I shall wait until you are gone. I intend to see Frederic alone,” she said, with marked emphasis on the final word. “As you like,” said he coldly.