Fleda hesitated; she felt herself reddening. "I've only said your son wants it. I haven't said I do." Fleda was embarrassed; she had not made up her mind definitely to lie. "I didn't think you'd care." That small untruth she would risk.!

Fleda was silent; the worst of it all was that there was something unspoken between them. Neither of them dared to utter it, but the influence of it was in the girl's tone when she returned at last, with great gentleness: "Don't be harsh to me—I'm very unhappy." The words produced a visible impression on Mrs. Gereth, who held her face averted and sent off through the window a gaze that kept pace with the long caravan of her treasures. Fleda knew she was watching it wind up the avenue of Poynton—Fleda participated indeed fully in the vision; so that after a little the most consoling thing seemed to her to add: "I don't see why in the world you take so for granted that he's, as you say, 'lost.'" "Fearfully?" broke from the girl. Somehow, at the word, she was startled.

"Oh, she's all right. Mother must come round." "He doesn't dream I've ever thought of him," said Fleda. "Why should he, if you didn't?" CHAPTER XV