Lydia had as little success in her rather more tactful interview with Yvonne.
“Thank you, dear, I am satisfied,” said she. “Everything has turned out as it should. The wicked enchantress has been foiled and virtue triumphs. Don't be unhappy on my account, Lydia. It will not be easy to say good-bye to you and Frederic, but—là! là! What are we to do? Now please don't speak of it again. Hearts are easily mended. Look at my husband—aïe! He has had his heart made over from top to bottom—in a rough crucible, it's true, but it's as good as new, you'll admit. In a way, I am made over, too. I am happier than I've ever been in my life. I'm in love with my husband, I'm in love with you and Frederic, and I am more than ever in love with myself. So there! Don't feel sorry for me. I shall have the supreme joy of knowing that not one of you will ever forget me or my deeds, good and bad. Who knows? I am still young, you know. Time has the chance to be very kind to me before I die.”
That last observation lingered in Lydia's mind.
But despite her careless treatment of the situation, Yvonne awaited with secret dread the coming of that hour when James Brood would say goodbye to her and, instead of turning her away from his house, would go out of it himself without a single command to her. He would not tell her that it was no longer her home, nor would he tell her that it was.
CHAPTER XXIV
The next day came, bright and sweet.
The ship was to sail at noon.
At ten o'clock the farewells were being said. There were tears and heartaches, and there was fierce rebellion in the hearts of two of the voyagers. Yvonne had declined to go to the pier to see them off, and Brood was going away without a word to her about the future. That was manifest to the anxious, soul-tried watchers.