CHAPTER IV
Lydia met Brood and Frederic at the top of the stairs. She had received the message through Jones and was on her way to dress for tea. The master of the house greeted her most cordially. He was very fond of this lovely, gentle daughter of John Desmond.
Into their association had stolen an intimate note that softened the cold reserve of the man to a marked degree. There was something brave and joyous in this girl that had always appealed to James Brood. He seldom failed to experience a sense of complete relaxation when with her; his hard eyes softened, his stern mouth took on the quiet smile of contentment.
His chief joy was to chat with her over the work he was doing, and to listen to her frank, honest opinions. There was no suggestion of constraint in her manner. She was not afraid of him. That was the thing about her, perhaps, that warmed his stone-cold heart, although he hardly would have admitted it to be the case.
She regarded herself as his secretary, or his amanuensis, in the strict way of speaking, but he considered her to be a friend as well, and treated her with a freedom that was not extended to others.
A faint gleam of astonishment lurked in the girl's eyes as she stood before the two men. Never, in her experience, had there been such an exhibition of friendliness between father and son. A curious throb of joy rushed up from her heart and lodged in her throat. For the first time she found it difficult to respond with composure to Brood's lively comments. Tears were lying close to the surface of her eyes; tears of relief and gratitude. The buoyant expression in Frederic's told a new story. Her heart rejoiced.
“Nonsense!” said Brood, when she announced that she was going in to change her gown. “You never looked so pretty, my dear, as you do at this instant. I want Mrs Brood to see you for the first time just as you are. You are a shirt-waist girl, Lydia. You couldn't be lovelier than you are now. Isn't that true, Frederic?”
“You'll spoil her, father,” said Frederic, his face glowing.