"On the occasion, at papa's, that Mrs. Brigstock told you of, and one day, since then, down at Maggie's." "I'll leave it all to my solicitor. He won't let her off: by Jove, I know the fellow!"!

"Not even to have Poynton." Mrs. Gereth looked at her rather hard. "If he doesn't care?"

"Poynton was too splendidly happy," Fleda promptly echoed. "Only that she left me thinking she had got something." The way Owen hung fire at this question made it sound more playful than she had intended. She had, in fact, no consciousness of any intention but that of confining herself rigidly to her function. She could already see that, in whatever he had now braced himself for, she was an element he had not reckoned with. His preparation had been of a different sort—the sort congruous with his having been careful to go first and lunch solidly at the inn. He had not been forced to ask for her, but she became aware, in his presence, of a particular desire to make him feel that no harm could really come to him. She might upset him, as people called it, but she would take no advantage of having done so. She had never seen a person with whom she wished more to be light and easy, to be exceptionally human. The account he presently gave of the matter was that he indeed wouldn't have come if he had known she was on the spot; because then, didn't she see? he could have written to her. He would have had her there to let fly at his mother.