A strange, unfathomable smile came into Yvonne's face and stayed there. Mrs Desmond experienced the same odd feeling she had had years ago on first seeing the Sphinx. She was suddenly confronted by an unsolvable mystery.
“He shall not drive me out of his house, Mrs Desmond,” was her answer to the challenge.
A door slammed in the upper regions of the house. Both women started to their feet.
“It is over,” breathed Yvonne with a tremulous sigh.
“We shall see how well they were able to take care of themselves, Mrs Brood,” said Mrs Desmond in a low voice.
“We shall see—yes,” said the other mechanically. Suddenly she turned on the tall, accusing figure beside her. “Go away! Go now! I command you to go. This is our affair, Mrs Desmond. You are not needed here. You were too late, as you say. I beg of you, go!” She strode swiftly toward the door. As she was about to place her hand on the knob it was opened from the other side, and Ranjab stood before them.
“Sahib begs to be excused, Mrs Desmond. He is just going out.”
“Going out?” cried Yvonne, who had shrunk back into the room.
“Yes, sahibah. You will please excuse, Mrs Desmond. He regret very much.”
Mrs Desmond passed slowly through the door, which he held open for her. As she passed by the Hindu she looked full into his dark, expressive eyes, and there was a question in hers. He did not speak, but she read the answer as if it were on a printed page. Her shoulders drooped.