"That can hardly have removed her impression that there are things I put you up to." Fleda had remained there, gathering in her purpose. "How little you know him!"!

Fleda vaguely demurred. "His dreadful quarrel?" "I take it you don't mean that Owen has any!" Mrs. Gereth cried with her large laugh.

"Oh, I came back from Ricks last week. I shall be here now till I don't know when." "Does it happen to be in your power to give it a name?" Mrs. Gereth's face showed the dim dawn of an amusement at finding herself seated at the feet of her pupil. "That's the only answer. It's the answer to everything." So Fleda saw; for a minute she looked over her companion's head and far away. "He wasn't at Waterbath; Mrs. Brigstock must have read your telegram and kept it. But mine, the one to Poynton, brought something. 'We are here—what do you want?'" Mrs. Gereth stopped as if with a failure of voice; on which Fleda sank upon the sofa and made a movement to take her hand. It met no response; there could be no attenuation. Fleda waited; they sat facing each other like strangers. "I wanted to go down," Mrs. Gereth presently continued. "Well, I went."