CHAPTER IV She felt sick; she sank upon a seat, staring up at him. "Do you mean that great house is lost?"!

Sadly and submissively Fleda shook her head; the slow tears had come into her eyes. "I can't. I don't understand—I don't understand!" she broke out. To Fleda, in the face of the event, it appeared that this was exactly what they were not: the last inch of common ground, the ground of their past intercourse, had fallen from under them. Yet what was still there was the grand style of her companion's treatment of her. Mrs. Gereth couldn't stand upon small questions, couldn't, in conduct, make small differences. "You're magnificent!" her young friend exclaimed. "There's a rare greatness in your generosity."

"Everything?" Fleda gasped. "What of that?" asked Fleda. Mrs. Gereth, holding her mantle together, appeared for a while to consider.