“Master Frederic begs a few minutes' time, _sahib_. He is putting down on paper the music, so that he may not forget. He writes the notes, _sahib. Madame_ assists.” Brood's shoulders sagged. His head was bent, but his gaze never left the face of the Hindu. “You may go, Ranjab,” he said slowly. “Ten minutes he asks for, _sahib_, that is all.” The curtains fell behind him once more. “So that he may not forget!” fell from Brood's lips. He was looking at the girl, but did not address his words to her. “So that he may not forget! So that I, too, may not forget!” Suddenly he arose and confronted the serene image of the Buddha. For a full minute he stood there with his hands clasped, his lips moving as if in prayer. No sound came from them. The girl remained transfixed, powerless to move. Not until he turned toward her and spoke was the spell broken. Then she came quickly to his side. He had pronounced her name. “You are about to tell me something, Mr Brood,” she cried in great agitation. “I do not care to listen. I feel that it is something I should not know. Please let me go now. I------” He laid his hands upon her shoulders, holding her off at arm's length. “I am very fond of you, Lydia. I do not want to hurt you. Sooner would I have my tongue cut out than it should wound you by a single word. Yet I must speak. You love Frederic. Is not that true?” She returned his gaze unwaveringly. Her face was very white. “Yes, Mr Brood.” “I have known it for some time, although I was the last to see. You love him, and you are just beginning to realise that he is not worthy.” “Mr Brood!” “Your eyes have been opened.” She stared, speechless. “My poor girl, he was born to prove that honest love is the rarest thing in all this world.” “Oh, I beg of you, Mr Brood, don't------” “It is better that we should talk it over. We have ten minutes. No doubt he has told you that he loves you. He is a lovable boy, he is the kind one _must_ love. But it is not in his power to love nobly. He loves lightly as”--he hesitated, and then went on harshly--“as his father before him loved.” Anger dulled her understanding; she did not grasp the full meaning of his declaration. Her honest heart rose to the defence of Frederic. “Mr Brood, I do care for Frederic,” she flamed, standing very erect before him. “He is not himself, he has not been himself since she came here. Oh, I am fully aware of what I am saying. He is not to be blamed for this thing that has happened to him. No one is to blame. It had to be. I can wait, Mr Brood. Frederic loves me. I know he does. He will come back to me. You have no right to say that he loves lightly, ignobly. You do not know him as I know him. You have never tried to know him, never wanted to know him. You--oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Brood. I--I am forgetting myself.” “I am afraid you do not understand yourself, Lydia,” said he levelly. “You are young, you are trusting. Your lesson will cost you a great deal, my dear.”