“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———”