Her prettiest frown opposed them.
“But you, after all, you are not women,” she said. “Women don't look at each other through masculine eyes. They look at a girl not to see how pretty she is, but to see what it is that makes her pretty.”
“But this is to be a family tea-party,” protested Brood. “It isn't a function, as the society reporter would say. Come just as you are to please me.”
“A tea-party and an autopsy are very much alike, Mr Brood,” said she. “One can learn a lot at either. Still, if you'd like to have Mrs Brood see me as I really am, I'll appear sans plumage.”
“I'd like it,” said he promptly. “I am sure you will like each other, Lydia.”
“I am glad you did not say we would admire each other,” said she quaintly. “You look very happy, Mr Brood,” she went on, her eyes bright.
“I believe I am happy,” said he.
“Then we shall all be happy,” was her rejoinder.
She returned to the jade room on the upper floor, where she had been at work on the catalogue. Brood had a very large and valuable collection of rare jade. A catalogue, she knew, would have but little significance, in view of the fact that the collection was not likely to be exhibited to public view. Still it was his whim, and she had found considerable pleasure in carrying out his belated orders.
The jade room, so called, was little more than a large closet off the remarkable room which James Brood was pleased to call his “hiding-place,” or, on occasions, his “retreat.” No one ventured into either of these rooms except by special permission.