"Oh, she has dispelled it." Fleda gave a faint, stubborn smile. "He cares for her too much."!

"All day long," Fleda smiled. "Because you were closeted with him here so long. You can't pretend at present, you know, not to have any art."

"She abused you, and I defended you. She denounced you—" Fleda considered; her friend had taken her up with a smothered ferocity by which she was slightly disconcerted. "I don't mean of course that he should surrender everything; but he might let you pick out the things to which you're most attached." Her gesture of resignation gave him a pretext for catching at her hand, but before he could take it she had put it behind her. They had been seated together on Maggie's single sofa, and her movement brought her to her feet, while Owen, looking at her reproachfully, leaned back in discouragement. "What good does it do me to be here when I find you only a stone?"