“A bed is a sepulchre. We bury half our lives in it, Frederic. We spend too much time in bed. Why live in our dreams when we should be enjoying to-day and not our yesterdays? Do you want to hear about the concert, James? It was wonderful. The———”
“If it was so wonderful, why did you leave before it was over?” demanded her husband, his lips straightening.
She looked at him curiously.
“How do you know that we left before it was over?”
“You have been at home since ten.”
They were all playing for time. They all realised that something sinister was attending their little conclave, unseen but vital. Each one knew that united they were safe, each against the other! Lydia was afraid because of Brood's revelations. Yvonne had sensed peril with the message delivered by Ranjab to Frederic. Frederic had come upstairs prepared for rebellion against the caustic remarks that were almost certain to come from his father. Brood was afraid of—himself! He was holding himself in check with the greatest difficulty. He knew that the smallest spark would create the explosion he dreaded and yet courted. Restraint lay heavily, yet shiftingly, upon all of them.
“Oh,” said Yvonne easily, “there were still two numbers to be played, and I loathe both of them. Frederic was ready to come away, too.”
“And Dr Hodder? Did he come away with you?” inquired Brood.
“No. He insisted on staying to the bitter end. We left him there.”
Brood laughed shortly. “I see.”