"I'm unhappy because I torment you, and you don't understand me." Sadly and submissively Fleda shook her head; the slow tears had come into her eyes. "I can't. I don't understand—I don't understand!" she broke out.!

"Then he's as big a donkey as his mother! But you know you must account for their delay," Mrs. Gereth remarked. The other visitor meanwhile turned to Fleda. "What is Mrs. Gereth going to do?"

"A good deal to myself, but a little, to-day, as you see, to Mr. Gereth,—" and the girl looked at Owen to draw him into their sociability. For Mrs. Brigstock he had immediately sat down; but the movement had not corrected the sombre stiffness taking possession of him at the sight of her. Before he found a response to the appeal addressed to him Fleda turned again to her other visitor. "Is there any purpose for which you would like my father to call on you?" "Gone?" She was in the man's hands; she clung to him. "I'm trying not to think of myself."