"You won't wait for what we may hear?" Mrs. Gereth asked. 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.'"!

"Oh dear, yes!" Owen repeated. "They'll read it first," said Mrs. Gereth.

Mrs. Gereth watched Fleda and considered. "You haven't any idea if they are waiting for the things?" "But wouldn't they have gone down as soon as you left?" Fleda hesitated; she had not quite had a definite idea. "Well—he'll give them up."