His eyes swept her from head to foot. He was deathly white. “If you were not my father's wife I would say yes,” said he hoarsely. “Do you know what it is that you have said?” she asked, suddenly putting her hands to her temples. Her eyes were glowing like coals. He was silent. “You are a dear boy, Frederic, but you are a foolish one,” she went on, the smile struggling back to her eyes. “I suppose you'll send me away after--what I've said,” he muttered dully. “Not at all!” she laughed. “I shall pay no attention to such nonsense. You are an honest fool, and I don't blame you. Wiser men than you have fallen in love with me, so why not you? I like you, Freddy; I like you very, very much. I------” “You like me because I am his son!” he cried hotly. “If you were not his son I should despise you,” she said deliberately, cruelly. He winced. “There, now; we've said enough. You must be sensible. You will discover that I am _very, very_ sensible. I have been sorry for you. It may hurt you to have me say that I pity you; but I do. You do not love me, Freddy. You are fooling yourself. You are like all boys when they lose their heads and not their hearts. It is Lydia whom you love, not I. You have just told me so.” “Before Heaven, Yvonne, I _do_ love her. That's what I cannot understand about myself.” He was pacing the floor. “But _I_ understand,” she said quietly. “Now go away, please. And don't let me hear another word about your leaving your father's house. You are not to take that step until I command you to go. Do you understand?” He stared at her in utter bewilderment for a moment, and slowly nodded his head. Then he turned abruptly toward the door, shamed and humiliated beyond words. As he went swiftly down the stairs his father came out upon the landing above and leaned over the railing to watch his descent. A moment later Brood was knocking at Yvonne's door. He did not wait for an invitation to enter, but strode into the room without ceremony. She was standing at the window that opened out upon the little stone balcony, and had turned swiftly at the sound of the rapping. Surprise gave way to an expression of displeasure. “What has Frederic been saying to you?” demanded her husband curtly, after he had closed the door. A faint sneer came to her lips. “Nothing, my dear James, that you would care to know,” she said, smouldering anger in her eyes. “You mean something that I _shouldn't_ know,” he said sternly. “Are you not forgetting yourself, James?” “I beg your pardon. I suppose the implication was offensive.” “It was. You have no right to pry into my affairs, James, and I shall be grateful to you if you will refrain from doing so again.” He stared at her incredulously. “Good Lord! Are you trying to tell me what I shall do or say------” “I am merely reminding you that I am your wife, not your------” She did not deem it necessary to complete the sentence.