In silence they made their way out to the waiting automobile. As Brood was about to pass through the broad front door a resolute figure confronted him. For a moment master and man stared hard into each other's eyes, and then, as if obeying an inflexible command, the former turned to glance backward into the hallway. Yvonne was standing in the library door.
“Sahib!” said the Hindu, and there was strange authority in his voice. “Tell her, sahib. It is not so cruel to tell her as it would be to go away without a word. She is waiting to be told that you do not want her to remain in your home.”
Brood closed his eyes for a second, and then strode quickly toward his wife.
“Yvonne, they all want me to take you along with us,” he said, his voice shaking with the pent-up emotion of weeks.
She met his gaze calmly, almost serenely.
“But, of course, it is quite impossible,” she said. “I understand, James.”
“It is not possible,” he said, steadying his voice with an effort.
“That is why I thought it would be better to say good-bye here and not at the pier. We must have some respect for appearances, you know.”
He searched her eyes intently, looking for some sign of weakening on her part. He did not know whether to feel disappointed or angry at what he saw.
“I don't believe you would have gone if I had——”