“And if I am to judge by Frederic's manner this morning, he is also able to take care of himself,” said Yvonne coolly. Her voice shook a little.
Mrs Desmond shot a quick glance of comprehension at the speaker.
“You are worried, Mrs Brood. Your manner betrays you. I command you to tell me how long they have been upstairs together. How long———”
“Will you be so good, Mrs Desmond, as to leave this house instantly?” cried Yvonne angrily.
“No,” said the other quietly. “I suppose I am too late to prevent trouble between those two men, but I shall at least remain here to assure Frederic of my sympathy, to help him if I can, to offer him the shelter of my home.”
A spasm of alarm crossed Yvonne's face.
“Do you really believe it will come to that?” she demanded nervously.
“If what I fear should come to pass, he will not stay in this house another hour. He will go forth from it cursing James Brood with all the hatred that his soul can possess. And now, Mrs Brood, shall I tell you what I think of you?”
“No. It isn't at all necessary. Besides, I've changed my mind. I'd like you to remain. I do not want to mystify you any farther, Mrs Desmond, but I now confess to you that I am losing my courage. Don't ask me to tell you why, but———”
“I suppose it is the custom with those who play with fire. They shrink when it burns them.”