“That is why I began my inquiries with Mrs Desmond,” she said enigmatically. “But I shan't pursue them any farther. You love _me_; that is all I care to know--or that I require.” “I _do_ love you,” he said, almost imploringly. She stroked his gaunt cheek. “Then we may let the other woman--go hang, eh?” He felt the cold sweat start on his brow. Her callous remark slashed his finer sensibilities like the thrust of a dagger. He tried to laugh, but only succeeded in producing a painful grimace. “And now,” she went on, as if the matter were fully disposed of, “we will discuss something tangible, eh? Frederic.” “Yes,” said he, rather dazedly. “Frederic.” “I am very, very fond of your son, James,” she said. “How proud you must be to have such a son.” He eyed her narrowly. How much of the horrid story did she know? How much of it had John Desmond told to his wife? “I am surprised at your liking him, Yvonne. He is what I'd call a difficult young man.” “I haven't found him difficult.” “Morbid and unresponsive.” “Not by nature, however. There is a joyousness, a light-heartedness in his character that has never got beyond the surface until now, James.” “Until now?” “Yes. And you talk of sending him away. Why?” “He has wanted to go abroad for years. This is a convenient time for him to go.” “But I am quite sure he will not care to go at present--not for a while, at least.” “And why not, may I ask?” “Because he is in love.” “In love!” he exclaimed, his jaw setting hard. “He is in love with Lydia.” “I'll put a stop to that!” “And why, may I ask?” she mimicked. “Because--why----” he burst out, but instantly collected himself. “He is not in a position to marry, that's all.” “Financially?” He swallowed hard. “Yes.” “Poof!” she exclaimed, dismissing the obstacle with a wave of her slim hand. “A cigarette, please. There is another reason why he shouldn't go--an excellent one.” “The reason you've already given is sufficient to convince me that he ought to go at once. What is the other one, pray?” She lighted a cigarette from the match he held. “What would you say if I were to tell you that I object to his going away--at present?” “I should ask the very obvious question.” “Because I like him, I want him to like me, and I shall be very lonely without him,” she answered calmly. “You are frank, to say the least,” said he, laughing. “And serious. I don't want him to go away at present. Later on, yes; but not now. I shall need him, James.” “You will be lonely, you say.” “Certainly. You forget that I am young.” “I see,” said he, a sudden pain in his heart. “Perhaps it would be more to the point if you were to say that I forget that I am old.” She laughed. It was a soft, musical laugh that strangely stilled the tumult in his breast.