Fleda by this time knew in what way she was affected: she became limp and weak again; she felt herself give everything up. Mixed with the horror, with the kindness of the station-master, with the smell of cinders and the riot of sound, was the raw bitterness of a hope that she might never again in life have to give up so much at such short notice. She heard herself repeat mechanically, yet as if asking it for the first time: "Poynton's gone?" He had laughed at his way of putting it, but Fleda remained grave. "Is that what you came to say to her?"!

He only, at this, like a buffeting swimmer, gave a shake of his head and repeated his question. "Do you mean to tell me I must marry such a woman?" She was in a fever of ingenuity and painfully conscious, on behalf of her success, that her fever was visible. She could herself see the reflection of it glitter in Mrs. Gereth's sombre eyes.

"But what to do?" "The answer to his message is perfectly distinct: he shall have everything in the place the minute he'll say he'll marry you." "Whatever we hear, I must go." As the cab went on she added: "But I needn't drag you to the station."