“There! Now you know everything. You know more than James Brood knows, for you know what his charming wife is about to do next.” She drew back and regarded the image through half-closed, smouldering eyes. “But he will know before long—before long.”
“What are you doing, Yvonne?” demanded Frederic unsteadily.
She whirled about and came toward him, her hands still clasped behind her back.
“Come with me,” she said, ignoring his question.
“He—he thinks I am in love with you,” said he, shaking his head.
“And are you not in love with me?”
He was startled. “Good Lord, Yvonne!”
She came quite close to him. He could feel the warmth that travelled from her body across the short space that separated them. The intoxicating perfume filled his nostrils; he drew a deep breath, his eyes closing slowly as his senses prepared to succumb to the delicious spell that came over him. When he opened them an instant later she was still facing him, as straight and fearless as a soldier, and the light of victory was in her dark, compelling eyes.
“Well,” she said deliberately, “I am ready to go away with you.”
He fell back stunned beyond the power of speech. His brain was filled with a thousand clattering noises.