"What has made the difference?" The door opened, and the smutty maid, edging in, announced "Mrs. Brigstock!"!

Fleda turned away. "Thank you." "Derived from him?"

"A great mistake! That's all right." He spoke—it wasn't clear to her why—as if this declaration were a great point gained. She checked him with a gesture. "Don't tell me what she did!" She had colored up to her eyes, where, as with the effect of a blow in the face, she quickly felt the tears gathering. It was a sudden drop in her great flight, a shock to her attempt to watch over what Mona was entitled to. While she had been straining her very soul in this attempt, the object of her magnanimity had been pronouncing her "not honest." She took it all in, however, and after an instant was able to speak with a smile. She would not have been surprised to learn, indeed, that her smile was strange. "You had said a while ago that your mother and I quarreled about you. It's much more true that you and Mona have quarreled about me." "Wherever he is, I can bear it," Fleda said. "But I haven't the least idea where he is."