"The whole thing has indeed been wretched, and I can easily conceive its effect upon her," Fleda said. "Wherever he is, I can bear it," Fleda said. "But I haven't the least idea where he is."!

"I'm glad, then, it didn't arrive. Shouldn't you like him to go?" Fleda asked. "Oh, I see." Her friend was silent a minute. "You use sometimes such odd expressions. Well, I shall last a little, but I sha'n't last forever."

"Have I kept you off to-day?" Fleda sadly shook her head, raising her arms a little and dropping them. "Oh, I don't mean with all the things here," he explained in regard to the opinion he had just expressed. "I mean I could put up with it just as it was; it had a lot of good things, don't you think? I mean if everything was back at Poynton, if everything was all right." He brought out these last words with a sort of smothered sigh. Fleda didn't understand his explanation unless it had reference to another and more wonderful exchange—the restoration to the great house not only of its tables and chairs, but of its alienated mistress. This would imply the installation of his own life at Ricks, and obviously that of another person. Such another person could scarcely be Mona Brigstock. He put out his hand now; and once more she heard his unsounded words: "With everything patched up at the other place, I could live here with you. Don't you see what I mean?" "Why, she simply won't marry me, don't you see?"