“Nor I,” said Lydia, and was surprised at herself.
“I prefer to put my faith in the women who tempted him,” said Yvonne, drawing a little closer to the girl.
“Perhaps you are right. They at least were not pretending.”
“I am not so sure of that. At any rate, they succeeded in making a saint of him eventually.”
“I suppose you are undertaking a similar office in—in Frederic's behalf,” said Lydia with fine irony.
“Do you consider me to be a bad woman, Lydia?” Her lips trembled. There was a suspicious quiver to her chin.
“No; I do not,” pronounced the girl flatly. “If I could only think that of you it would explain everything, and I should know just how to treat you. But I do not think it of you.”
With a long, deep sigh Yvonne crept closer and laid her head against Lydia's shoulder. The girl's body stiffened, her brow grew dark with annoyance.
“I am afraid you do not understand, Mrs Brood. The fact still remains that you have not considered Frederic's peace of mind.”
“Nor yours,” murmured the other.