Frederic was biting his lips nervously. He allowed Lydia to pass him on her way out, scarcely noticing her, so intently was his gaze fixed upon Yvonne. When Brood followed Lydia into the hall to remonstrate, the young man sprang eagerly to his stepmother's side. “Good Lord, Yvonne!” he whispered, “that was a nasty thing to say. What will Lydia think? By gad, is it possible that you are jealous? Of Lydia?” “Jealous?” cried she, struggling with her fury. “Jealous of that girl? Poof! Why should I be jealous of her? She hasn't the blood of a potato!” “I can't understand you,” he said in great perplexity. “You--you told me to-night that you are not sure that you really love him. You------” She stopped him with a quick gesture. Her eyes were smouldering. “Where is he? Gone away with her? Go and look; do.” “They're in the hall. I shall take her home, never fear. I fancy he's trying to explain your insinuating------” She turned on him furiously. “Are you lecturing me? What a tempest in a teapot!” “Lydia's as good as gold. She------” “Then take her home at once,” sneered Yvonne. “This is no place for her.” Frederic paled. “You're not trying to say my father would--good Lord, Yvonne, you must be crazy! Why, that is impossible! If--if I thought------” He clenched his fists and glared over his shoulder, missing the queer little smile that flitted across her face. “You do love her then,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and caressing. He stared at her in complete bewilderment. “I--I--Lord, you gave me a shock!” He passed his hand across his moist forehead. “It can't be so. Why, the very thought of it------” “I suppose I shall have to apologise to Lydia,” said she calmly. “Your father will exact it of me, and I shall obey. How does it sound, coming from me? 'I am sorry, Lydia.' Do I say it prettily?” “I don't understand you at all, Yvonne. I adore you, and yet, by Heaven, I--I actually believe I hated you just now. Listen to me. I've been treating Lydia vilely for a long, long time, but--she's the finest, best, dearest girl in the world. You--even you, Yvonne--shall not utter a word against------” “_Aïe!_ What heroics!” she cried ironically. “You are splendid when you are angry, my son. Yes, you are almost as splendid as your father. He, too, has been angry with me. He, too, has made me shudder. But he, too, has forgiven me, as you shall this instant. Say it, Freddy. You do forgive me? I was mean, nasty, ugly, vile--oh, everything that's horrid. I take it all back. Now be nice to me!” She laid her hand on his arm, an appealing little caress that conquered him in a flash. He clasped her fingers fiercely in his and mumbled incoherently as he leaned forward, drawn resistlessly nearer by the strange magic that was hers. “You--you are wonderful,” he murmured. “I knew you'd regret what you said. You couldn't have meant it.”