"Of course he doesn't know!" cried Fleda indignantly. The girl hung fire a few seconds. "Derived from him."!

"Leaving you quite to yourself?" Owen sat there a minute staring at her. "Ah, you're beautiful, more beautiful than any one," he broke out, "but I'll be hanged if I can ever understand you! On Tuesday, at your father's, you were beautiful—as beautiful, just before I left, as you are at this instant. But the next day, when I went back, I found it had apparently meant nothing; and now, again, that you let me come here and you shine at me like an angel, it doesn't bring you an inch nearer to saying what I want you to say." He remained a moment longer in the same position; then he jerked himself up. "What I want you to say is that you like me—what I want you to say is that you pity me." He sprang up and came to her. "What I want you to say is that you'll save me!"

"Determined her to what?" Fleda thought an instant. "You mean makes her hesitate to keep you—not hesitate to renounce you?" "You pegged at her so hard?" Owen asked.