Fleda wondered, but she also smiled. "To-night—to-morrow?" "Why not to Waterbath at once?" Fleda asked.!

"I don't give it up—I never did," Fleda returned. "I should think you might, with half your things here! It's Poynton itself—almost. Good-bye, Mr. Gereth," Fleda added. Her intention had naturally been that the neat young woman, opening the front door, should remain to close it on the departing guest. That functionary, however, had acutely vanished behind a stiff flap of green baize which Mrs. Gereth had not yet had time to abolish. Fleda put out her hand, but Owen turned away—he couldn't find his umbrella. She passed into the open air—she was determined to get him out; and in a moment he joined her in the little plastered portico which had small resemblance to any feature of Poynton. It was, as Mrs. Gereth had said, like the portico of a house in Brompton.

She came out on the platform: everywhere she met the smoke. She covered her face with her hands. "I'll go back." "She wanted to know what right you had to meddle. She said you were not honest." "Gone?" She was in the man's hands; she clung to him.