"Not exactly those words. But I did come to say"—he stammered, then brought it out—"I did come to say we must have them right back." Fleda came to the sofa in obedience to the impulse to sit down by her; then paused before her while Mrs. Gereth turned up a dead gray mask. A tired old woman sat there with empty hands in her lap. "I've heard nothing," said Fleda. "No answer came."!

Fleda hesitated. "Did you see her?" "Why must I?" Fleda asked after a moment.

"Then he's as big a donkey as his mother! But you know you must account for their delay," Mrs. Gereth remarked. "Why, Mona's much worse than her mother. She wants much more to give me up." "I'm completely at your service." Owen held out his hand to Fleda. "Good-bye, Miss Vetch. I hope to see you again to-morrow." He opened the door for Mrs. Brigstock, who passed before the girl with an oblique, averted salutation. Owen and Fleda, while he stood at the door, then faced each other darkly and without speaking. Their eyes met once more for a long moment, and she was conscious there was something in hers that the darkness didn't quench, that he had never seen before and that he was perhaps never to see again. He stayed long enough to take it—to take it with a sombre stare that just showed the dawn of wonder; then he followed Mrs. Brigstock out of the house.