Fleda wondered. "And did you remember the little letter that, with your hands tied, you still succeeded in writing to him?" "I meant painful to myself," Fleda, with a slight impatience, explained.!

"He won't live with her?" He appeared puzzled by this statement, but he presently rejoined: "You haven't then said to mamma what you think?"

"So much the better, if it's the kind of one you desire." That was the most she could say, and having made it sound as dry as possible she lapsed into a silence so pointed as to deprive him of all pretext for not leaving her. Still, nevertheless, he stood there, playing with his hat and filling the long pause with a strained and anxious smile. He wished to obey her thoroughly, to appear not to presume on any advantage he had won from her; but there was clearly something he longed for beside. While he showed this by hanging on she thought of two other things. One of these was that his countenance, after all, failed to bear out his description of his bliss. As for the other, it had no sooner come into her head than she found it seated, in spite of her resolution, on her lips. It took the form of an inconsequent question. "When did you say Mrs. Brigstock was to have gone back?" "Tells her what?" Fleda inquired. Her companion hesitated. "In your name?"