"I couldn't stand the way she treated you, and that was what I had to say to her," Owen returned. "I've pulled myself together." Fleda paused; then she added: "And I've seen Mr. Owen."!

Owen sat there a minute staring at her. "Ah, you're beautiful, more beautiful than any one," he broke out, "but I'll be hanged if I can ever understand you! On Tuesday, at your father's, you were beautiful—as beautiful, just before I left, as you are at this instant. But the next day, when I went back, I found it had apparently meant nothing; and now, again, that you let me come here and you shine at me like an angel, it doesn't bring you an inch nearer to saying what I want you to say." He remained a moment longer in the same position; then he jerked himself up. "What I want you to say is that you like me—what I want you to say is that you pity me." He sprang up and came to her. "What I want you to say is that you'll save me!" "For you, of course—to entreat me to give you up. She thinks me awfully designing—that I've taken some sort of possession of you."

"I explained to her fully your position and put before her much more strongly than she liked what seemed to me her absolute duty." "In my name. I noticed a place at the corner." "For what do you take me? I wasn't such a donkey."