CHAPTER XIV
Frederic had the feeling that he slunk to the telephone. The girl handed the receiver to him and he met her confident, untroubled gaze for a second. Instead of returning to the sitting-room where she could have heard everything that he said, she went into her own room down the hall and closed the door. He was not conscious of any intention to temporise, but it was significant that he did not speak until the door closed behind her. Afterward he realised and was ashamed.
Almost the first words that Yvonne uttered were of a nature to puzzle and irritate him, although they bore directly upon his own previously formed resolution. Her voice, husky and low, seemed strangely plaintive and lifeless to him.
“Have you and Lydia made any plans for the afternoon?” she inquired. He made haste to declare their intention to attend a concert. “I am glad you are going to do that,” she went on.
“Are you ill, Yvonne?” he queried suddenly. “I? Oh, no. I think I never felt better in my life than I do at this moment. The storm must have blown the cobwebs out of my brain. I believe I'm quite happy to-day, Frederic.”
“Aren't you always happy?” he cried chidingly. “What an odd thing to say.”
She did not respond to this.
“You will stay for luncheon with Lydia?”
“Yes. She's trying to pick up that thing of Feverelli's—the one we heard last night.” There was silence at the other end of the wire, “Are you there?”
“Yes.”