"You've diverged uncommonly far!"—Owen laughed back. Fleda, with her hideous crockery and her father's collections, could conceive that these objects, to her visitor's perception even more strongly than to her own, measured the length of the swing from Poynton and Ricks; she was aware too that her high standards figured vividly enough even to Owen's simplicity to make him reflect that West Kensington was a tremendous fall. If she had fallen it was because she had acted for him. She was all the more content he should thus see she had acted, as the cost of it, in his eyes, was none of her own showing. "What seems to have happened," he exclaimed, "is that you've had a row with her and yet not moved her!" "I'm sure I don't remember."!

"Oh no, not everything; I saw how little I could get into this scrap of a house. I only brought away what I required." "Surely it's the only proper thing for him to do."

"Oh yes, she will have written bang off!" Owen cheerfully conceded. "She knows he would do anything to marry you." Fleda turned away. "Thank you."