"To succeed, it must be all me!" Fleda decided. "Drive to Euston, please."!

"Something always passes when one has a little imagination," our young lady declared. Fleda looked very blank. "What on earth am I to see him for?"

"For anything you like." "Oh, I don't mean with all the things here," he explained in regard to the opinion he had just expressed. "I mean I could put up with it just as it was; it had a lot of good things, don't you think? I mean if everything was back at Poynton, if everything was all right." He brought out these last words with a sort of smothered sigh. Fleda didn't understand his explanation unless it had reference to another and more wonderful exchange—the restoration to the great house not only of its tables and chairs, but of its alienated mistress. This would imply the installation of his own life at Ricks, and obviously that of another person. Such another person could scarcely be Mona Brigstock. He put out his hand now; and once more she heard his unsounded words: "With everything patched up at the other place, I could live here with you. Don't you see what I mean?" "That's your great feeling about him," Fleda said; "but how, after what has happened, can it be his about you?"