“No one has ever lectured me before, James,” she said, affecting a yawn. “It will be a new and interesting experience.”
“And I trust a profitable one,” said he rather grimly. “I shouldn't call it a lecture, however. A warning is better.”
“That should be more thrilling, in any event.”
He took one of her hands in his and stroked it gently, even patiently.
“I will come straight to the point. Frederic is falling in love with you. Wait! I do not blame him. He cannot help himself. No more could I, for that matter, and he has youth, which is a spur that I have lost. I have watched him, Yvonne. He is—to put it cold-bloodedly—losing his head. Leaving me out of the question altogether, if you choose, do you think you are quite fair to him? I am not disturbed on your account or my own, but—well, can't you see what a cruel position we are likely to find ourselves———”
“Just a moment, James,” she interrupted, sitting up very straight in the chair and meeting his gaze steadfastly. “Will you spare me the conjectures and come straight to the point as you have said? The warning, if you please.”
He turned a shade paler.
“Well,” he began deliberately, “it comes to this, my dear: one or the other of you will have to leave my house if this thing goes on.”
She shot a glance of incredulity at his set face. Her body became rigid.
“Do you know what you are saying?”