“The end is in sight. We're a bit feverish over it, I suppose. You see, my dear, we have just escaped captivity in Thassa. It was a bit thrilling, I fancy. But we've stopped for the night.”
“So I perceive,” said Yvonne, a touch of insolence in her voice. “You stopped, I dare say, when you heard the tread of the vulgar world approaching the inner temple. That is what you broke into and desecrated, wasn't it?”
“The inner temple at Thassa,” he said coldly.
“Certainly. The place you were escaping from when we came in.”
It was clear to all of them that Yvonne was piqued, even angry. She deliberately crossed the room and threw herself upon the couch, an act so childish, so disdainful, that for a full minute no one spoke, but stared at her, each with a different emotion.
Lydia's eyes were flashing. Her lips parted, but she withheld the angry words that rose to them.
Brood's expression changed slowly from dull anger to one of incredulity, which swiftly gave way to positive joy. His wife was jealous!
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!”