“Nonsense!” said Brood, when she announced that she was going in to change her gown. “You never looked so pretty, my dear, as you do at this instant. I want Mrs Brood to see you for the first time just as you are. You are a shirt-waist girl, Lydia. You couldn't be lovelier than you are now. Isn't that true, Frederic?” “You'll spoil her, father,” said Frederic, his face glowing. Her prettiest frown opposed them. “But you, after all, you are not women,” she said. “Women don't look at each other through masculine eyes. They look at a girl not to see how pretty she is, but to see what it is that makes her pretty.” “But this is to be a family tea-party,” protested Brood. “It isn't a function, as the society reporter would say. Come just as you are to please me.” “A tea-party and an autopsy are very much alike, Mr Brood,” said she. “One can learn a lot at either. Still, if you'd like to have Mrs Brood see me as I really am, I'll appear _sans_ plumage.” “I'd like it,” said he promptly. “I am sure you will like each other, Lydia.” “I am glad you did not say we would admire each other,” said she quaintly. “You look very happy, Mr Brood,” she went on, her eyes bright. “I believe I _am_ happy,” said he. “Then we shall all be happy,” was her rejoinder. She returned to the jade room on the upper floor, where she had been at work on the catalogue. Brood had a very large and valuable collection of rare jade. A catalogue, she knew, would have but little significance, in view of the fact that the collection was not likely to be exhibited to public view. Still it was his whim, and she had found considerable pleasure in carrying out his belated orders. The jade room, so called, was little more than a large closet off the remarkable room which James Brood was pleased to call his “hiding-place,” or, on occasions, his “retreat.” No one ventured into either of these rooms except by special permission. Ranjab, his Indian servant, slept in an adjoining room, and it was whispered about the house that not even James Brood had viewed its interior. This silent, unapproachable man from the mysterious heart of India locked his door when he entered the room and locked it when he came out. No one, not even the master, thought of entering. Mr Dawes in his cups, or out of them, was responsible for the impression that the man kept deadly serpents there. As a matter of fact, Ranjab was a peaceable fellow and desperately afraid of snakes.