Black is White 21
She stood up, facing him. She appeared to be frightened.
“Are you trying to tell me that you are in love with me?” she demanded,
and there was no longer mockery or raillery in her voice.
His eyes swept her from head to foot. He was deathly white.
“If you were not my father’s wife I would say yes,” said he hoarsely.
“Do you know what it is that you have said?” she asked, suddenly putting
her hands to her temples. Her eyes were glowing like coals.
He was silent.
“You are a dear boy, Frederic, but you are a foolish one,” she went on,
the smile struggling back to her eyes.
“I suppose you’ll send me away after--what I’ve said,” he muttered
dully.
“Not at all!” she laughed. “I shall pay no attention to such nonsense.
You are an honest fool, and I don’t blame you. Wiser men than you have
fallen in love with me, so why not you? I like you, Freddy; I like you
very, very much. I------”
“You like me because I am his son!” he cried hotly.
“If you were not his son I should despise you,” she said deliberately,
cruelly. He winced. “There, now; we’ve said enough. You must be
sensible. You will discover that I am _very, very_ sensible. I have been
sorry for you. It may hurt you to have me say that I pity you; but I do.
You do not love me, Freddy. You are fooling yourself. You are like all
boys when they lose their heads and not their hearts. It is Lydia whom
you love, not I. You have just told me so.”
“Before Heaven, Yvonne, I _do_ love her. That’s what I cannot understand
about myself.” He was pacing the floor.
“But _I_ understand,” she said quietly. “Now go away, please. And don’t
let me hear another word about your leaving your father’s house. You are
not to take that step until I command you to go. Do you understand?”
He stared at her in utter bewilderment for a moment, and slowly nodded
his head. Then he turned abruptly toward the door, shamed and humiliated
beyond words.
As he went swiftly down the stairs his father came out upon the landing
above and leaned over the railing to watch his descent. A moment later
Brood was knocking at Yvonne’s door. He did not wait for an invitation
to enter, but strode into the room without ceremony.
She was standing at the window that opened out upon the little stone
balcony, and had turned swiftly at the sound of the rapping. Surprise
gave way to an __EXPRESSION__ of displeasure.
“What has Frederic been saying to you?” demanded her husband curtly,
after he had closed the door.
A faint sneer came to her lips.
“Nothing, my dear James, that you would care to know,” she said,
smouldering anger in her eyes.
“You mean something that I _shouldn’t_ know,” he said sternly.
“Are you not forgetting yourself, James?”
“I beg your pardon. I suppose the implication was offensive.”
“It was. You have no right to pry into my affairs, James, and I shall be
grateful to you if you will refrain from doing so again.”
He stared at her incredulously.
“Good Lord! Are you trying to tell me what I shall do or say------”
“I am merely reminding you that I am your wife, not your------” She did
not deem it necessary to complete the sentence.
“You are content to leave a good deal to my imagination, I see.” He
flushed angrily.
She came up to him slowly.
“James, we must both be careful. We must not quarrel.” Her hands grasped
the lapels of his long lounging robe. There was an appealing look in
her eyes that checked the harsh words even as they rose to his lips. He
found himself looking into those dark eyes with the same curious wonder
in his own that had become so common of late. Time and again he had been
puzzled by something he saw in their liquid depths, something that he
could not fathom, no matter how deeply he probed.
“What is there about you, Yvonne, that hurts me--yes actually hurts
me--when you look at me as you’re looking now?” he cried almost roughly.
“We have been married a scant four months,” she said gently. “Would you
expect a woman to shed her mystery in so short a time as that?”
“There is something in your eyes------” he began, and shook his head in
utter perplexity. “You startle me once in a while. There are times
when you seem to be looking at me through eyes that are not your own.
It’s--it’s--quite uncanny. If you------”
“I assure you my eyes are all my own,” she cried flippantly, and yet
there was a slight trace of nervousness in her manner. “Do you intend to
be nice and good and reasonable, James? I mean about poor Frederic.”
His face clouded again.
“Do you know what you are doing to that boy?” he asked bluntly.
“Quite as well as I know what you are doing to him,” she replied
quickly.
He stiffened. “Can’t you see what it is coming to?”
“Yes. He was on the point of leaving your house, never to come back to
it again. That’s what it is coming to,” she said.
“Do you mean to say------”
“He was packing his things to go away to-day------”
“Why--why, he’d starve!” cried the man, shaken in spite of himself. “He
has never done a day’s labour; he doesn’t know how to earn a living.
He------”
“And who is to blame? You, James; you! You have tied his hands, you have
penned him up in------”
“We will not go into that,” he interrupted coldly.
“Very well. As you please. I said that he was going away, perhaps to
starve, but he has changed his mind. He has taken my advice.”
“Your advice?”
“I have advised him to bide his time.”
“It sounds rather ominous.”
“If he waits long enough you may discover that you love him and his
going would give you infinite pain. Then is the time for him to go.”
“Good Heaven!” he cried in astonishment. “What a remarkable notion of
the fitness------”
“That will be his chance to repay you for all that you have done for
him, James,” said she, as calm as a May morning.
“Have I ever said that I do not love him?” he demanded shortly.
“For that matter, have you ever said that you do not hate him?”
“By Jove, you are a puzzle to me!” he exclaimed, and a fine moisture
came out on his forehead.
“Let the boy alone, James,” she went on earnestly. “He is------”
“See here, Yvonne,” he broke in sternly, “that is a matter we can’t
discuss. You do not understand, and I cannot explain certain things to
you. I came here just now to ask you to be fair to him, even though I
may not appear to be. You are------”
“That is also a matter we cannot discuss,” said she calmly.
“But it is a thing we are going to discuss, just the same,” said he.
“Sit down, my dear, and listen to what I have to say. Sit down!”
For a moment she faced him defiantly. He was no longer angry, and
therein lay the strength that opposed her. She could have held her
own with him if he had maintained the angry attitude that marked the
beginning of their interview. As it was, her eyes fell after a brief
struggle against the dominant power in his, and she obeyed, but not
without a significant tribute to his superiority in the shape of an
indignant shrug.
“No one has ever lectured me before, James,” she said, affecting a yawn.
“It will be a new and interesting experience.”
“And I trust a profitable one,” said he rather grimly. “I shouldn’t call
it a lecture, however. A warning is better.”
“That should be more thrilling, in any event.”
He took one of her hands in his and stroked it gently, even patiently.
“I will come straight to the point. Frederic is falling in love with
you. Wait! I do not blame him. He cannot help himself. No more could I,
for that matter, and he has youth, which is a spur that I have lost. I
have watched him, Yvonne. He is--to put it cold-bloodedly--losing his
head. Leaving me out of the question altogether, if you choose, do you
think you are quite fair to him? I am not disturbed on your account or
my own, but well, can’t you see what a cruel position we are likely to
find ourselves------”
“Just a moment, James,” she interrupted, sitting up very straight in
the chair and meeting his gaze steadfastly. “Will you spare me the
conjectures and come straight to the point as you have said? The
warning, if you please.”
He turned a shade paler.
“Well,” he began deliberately, “it comes to this, my dear: one or the
other of you will have to leave my house if this thing goes on.”
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