"A great mistake! That's all right." He spoke—it wasn't clear to her why—as if this declaration were a great point gained. "Not even to have Poynton."!

Rather musingly and absently Fleda shook her head. "I don't mind anything." "I've got a perfect case—I could have her up. The Brigstocks say it's simple stealing."

"Where will they send it?" Fleda, downstairs, learned soon enough what this was. It was simply that, as he announced the moment he stood before her, he was now all right. When she asked him what he meant by that state he replied that he meant he could practically regard himself henceforth as a free man: he had had at West Kensington, as soon as they got into the street, such a horrid scene with Mrs. Brigstock. Mrs. Gereth slowly rose at this and, coming across the walk, took her young friend in her arms and kissed her. She then passed into one of Fleda's an arm perversely and imperiously sociable. "Let us move a little," she said, holding her close and giving a slight shiver. They strolled along the terrace, and she brought out another question. "He was eloquent, then, poor dear—he poured forth the story of his wrongs?"