Later on Brood joined them in the courtyard. He stood, with his hand on his son's shoulder, chatting carelessly about the coming voyage, all the while smiling upon the radiant girl to whom he was promising paradise. She adored the gentle, kindly gleam in those one-time steady, steel-like eyes. His voice, too, of late was pitched in a softer key, and there was the ring of happiness in its every note. It was as if he had discovered something in life that was constantly surprising and pleasing him. He seemed always to be venturing into fresh fields of exploration and finding there something that was of inestimable value to his new estate. Lydia left father and son after a few minutes, excusing herself on the ground that she wished to have a good, long chat with Yvonne. She did not delay her departure, but hurried into the house, having rather adroitly provided Frederic with an opening for an intercession in behalf of his lovely stepmother. Her meaning glance was not wasted on the young man. He lost no time in following up the advantage. “See here, father, I don't like the idea of leaving Yvonne out in the cold, so to speak. It's pretty darned rough, don't you think? Down in your heart you don't blame her for what she started out to do, and, after all, she's only human. Whatever happened in the past we--well, it's all in the past. She------” Brood stopped him with a gesture. “My son, I will try to explain something to you. You may be able to understand things better than I. I fell in love with her once because an influence that was not her own overpowered me. There was something of your mother in her. She admits that to be true, and I now believe it. Well, that something, whatever it was, is gone. She is not the same. Yvonne is Thérèse. She is not the woman I loved two months ago.” “Nor am I the boy you hated two months ago,” argued Frederic. “Isn't there a parallel to be seen there, father? I am your son. She is your wife. You------” “There was never a time when I really hated you, my son. I tried to, but that is all over. We will not rake up the ashes. As for my wife--well, I have tried to hate her. It is impossible for me to do so. She is a wonderful woman. But you must understand, on the other hand, that I do not love her. I did when she looked at me with your mother's eyes and spoke to me with your mother's lips. But she is not the same.” “Give yourself a chance, dad. You will come to love her for herself if only you will let go of yourself. You are trying to be hard. You------” Again Brood interrupted. His face was pale, his eyes grew dark with pain. “You don't know what you are saying, Frederic. Let us discontinue the subject.” “I want you to be happy, I want------” “I shall be happy. I am happy. Have I not found out the truth? Are you not my beloved son? Are------” “And who convinced you of all that, sir? Who is responsible for your present happiness, and mine?” “I know, I know!” exclaimed the father in some agitation.