“It's dear of you,” she said hurriedly, “but I must see Mr Brood at once. Why not come over to my apartment this afternoon for a cup of tea and——”
Mrs Brood's voice interrupted her.
“What do you want, Mrs Desmond?” came from the landing above.
The visitor looked up with a start, not so much of surprise as uneasiness. There was something sharp, unfriendly, in the low, level tones.
Yvonne, fully dressed—a most unusual circumstance at that hour of the day—was leaning over the banister-rail.
“I came to see Mr Brood on a very important—”
“He is occupied. Won't I do as well?”
“It is really quite serious, Mrs Brood. I am afraid it would be of no avail to—to take it up with you.”
“Have you been sent here by someone else?” demanded Mrs Brood.
“I have not seen Frederic,” fell from the other's lips before she thought.