“Mrs Desmond is waiting, Yvonne.”
She drew herself up.
“Are you in such great haste, Mrs Desmond?” she asked in a voice that cut like a knife. Instinctively she glanced at Frederic's face. She saw the muscles of the jaw harden and an angry light leap into his eyes. Instantly her arrogance fell away. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Desmond. I have many bad habits. Now will you kindly show me to my room? I prefer that you and not one of the servants should be my guide. Au revoir, Frederic. Till tea-time, James.”
Her eyes were sparkling, her husky voice once more full of the appealing quality that could not be denied. The flush of injured pride faded from Mrs Desmond's brow and a faint look of surprise crept into her eyes. She was surprised at her own inclination to overlook the affront, and not by the change in Mrs Brood's manner. She smiled an unspoken pardon and stood aside for the new mistress to pass in front of her. To her further amazement the younger woman laid a hand upon her arm and gave it a gentle, friendly pressure.
The men watched them in silence as they left the room side by side. A moment later they heard the soft laughter of the two women as they mounted the stairs.
Frederic drew a long breath.
“She's splendid, father,” he said impulsively.
Brood's face was still clouded. He did not respond to the eager tribute.
Mr Dawes cleared his throat and cast a significant glance toward the dining-room.
“What do you say to a drink to the bride, Jim?” he said, somewhat explosively. He had been silent for a longer period than usual. It wasn't natural for him to be voiceless, even when quite alone.