“Frederic, I want you to do something for me,” said Lydia earnestly. “There was a time when I could not have asked this of you, but now I implore you to speak to your father in her behalf. I love her, Freddy dear. I cannot help it. She asks nothing of any of us; she expects nothing, and yet she loves all of us. If he only would unbend toward her a little------” “Listen, Lyddy dear. I don't believe it's altogether up to him. There is a barrier that we can't see, but they do, both of them. My mother stands between them. You see, I've come to know my father lately, dear. He's not a stranger to me any longer. I know what sort of a heart he's got. He never got over loving my mother, and he'll never get over knowing that Yvonne knows that _she_ loved him to the day she died. “We know what it was in Yvonne that attracted him from the first, and she knows. He's not likely to forgive himself so easily. He didn't play fair with either of them, that's what I'm trying to get at. I don't believe he can forgive himself any more than he can forgive Yvonne for the thing she set about to do. “You see, Lyddy, she married him without love. She debased herself, even though she can't admit it even now. I love her, too. She's the most wonderful woman in the world. But she did give herself to the man she hated with all her soul and--well, there you are. He can't forget _that_, you know, and she can't. She loves him for herself now, and that's what hurts both of them. It hurts because they both know that he still loves my mother.” “She's his wife, however,” said Lydia, with a stubborn pursing of the lips. “She didn't wrong him, and, after all, she's only guilty of--well, she isn't guilty of anything except being a sister of the girl _he_ wronged.” “I'll have a talk with him if you think best,” said he, an eager gleam in his eyes. “And I with Yvonne,” she said quickly. “You see, it's possible she is the one to be persuaded.” “Of course, you've observed that they never see one another alone,” said he. “They never meet except when someone else is about. He rather resents the high-handed way in which she ordered him to stay away from me until I was safely out of danger. He says she saved my life. He says she performed a miracle. But he has never uttered a word of thanks or gratitude or appreciation to her. I'm sure of that, for she has told me so. And she is satisfied to go without his thanks.” “I see what you mean,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose we just can't understand things.” “You've no idea how beautiful you are to-day, Lyddy,” he cried suddenly, and she looked up into his glowing eyes with a smile of ineffable happiness. Her hand found his, and her warm, red lips were pressed to its palm in a hot, impassioned kiss. “It's great to be alive! Great!” “Oh, it is,” she cried, “it is!” They might better have said that it is great to be young, for that is what it all came to in the analysis.