“You know, then, that they are—that they will quarrel?”
“I fancy it was in Frederic's mind to do so when he came here this morning. He was still in his evening clothes, Mrs Desmond.”
“Where are they now?”
“I think he has them on,” said Yvonne lightly.
Mrs Desmond regarded her for a moment in perplexity. Then her eyes flashed dangerously.
“I do not think you misunderstood me, Mrs Brood. Where are Frederic and his father?”
“I am not accustomed to that tone of voice, Mrs Desmond.”
“I am no longer your housekeeper,” said the other succinctly. “You do not realise what this quarrel may mean. I insist on going up to them before it has gone too far.”
“My husband can take care of himself, thank you.”
“I am not thinking of your husband, but of that poor boy who is———”