Fleda appeared to consider: she appreciated her visitor's magnanimous use of the plural. "Mona won't die," she replied. "It displeased her fearfully," said Owen, looking very queer.!

"It's stronger than yours." "It certainly isn't worth it!"

Her hostess was looking at her hard again. "Didn't he tell you—didn't he say anything about it?" "Oh, I don't mean with all the things here," he explained in regard to the opinion he had just expressed. "I mean I could put up with it just as it was; it had a lot of good things, don't you think? I mean if everything was back at Poynton, if everything was all right." He brought out these last words with a sort of smothered sigh. Fleda didn't understand his explanation unless it had reference to another and more wonderful exchange—the restoration to the great house not only of its tables and chairs, but of its alienated mistress. This would imply the installation of his own life at Ricks, and obviously that of another person. Such another person could scarcely be Mona Brigstock. He put out his hand now; and once more she heard his unsounded words: "With everything patched up at the other place, I could live here with you. Don't you see what I mean?" "I doubt if they'd bear it again!"