"She would if Owen had described your outbreak to Mona." Fleda gave a bold dramatic laugh. "Thank you, my love—with all the best things at Ricks!"!

Mrs. Gereth, struck apparently by something in her tone, looked at her from a tremendous height. "Don't fail me now!" Fleda hesitated; he held her fast. "No. Anything is better than that."

"Then if you're thinking of Owen, how can you bear to think?" "You must settle that with her. You mustn't break faith. Anything is better than that. You must at any rate be utterly sure. She must love you—how can she help it? I wouldn't give you up!" said Fleda. She spoke in broken bits, panting out her words. "The great thing is to keep faith. Where is a man if he doesn't? If he doesn't he may be so cruel. So cruel, so cruel, so cruel!" Fleda repeated. "I couldn't have a hand in that, you know: that's my position—that's mine. You offered her marriage: it's a tremendous thing for her." Then looking at him another moment, "I wouldn't give you up!" she said again. He still had hold of her arm; she took in his blank alarm. With a quick dip of her face she reached his hand with her lips, pressing them to the back of it with a force that doubled the force of her words. "Never, never, never!" she cried; and before he could succeed in seizing her she had turned and, scrambling up the stairs, got away from him even faster than she had got away from him at Ricks. "You'll last quite as long—" Here Fleda suddenly hesitated.