"Why, legal, don't you know?—what he calls setting the lawyers at you." "I'm not talking of disgust; I'm talking of its opposite," said Mrs. Gereth.!

Fleda looked very blank. "What on earth am I to see him for?" Fleda, on the threshold, kissed her; then they went out.

"Good-bye, Mr. Gereth—I must get on!" she declared with a cheerfulness that she felt to be an unnatural grimace. She broke away from him sharply, smiling, backing across the grass and then turning altogether and moving as fast as she could. "Good-bye, good-bye!" she threw off again as she went, wondering if he would overtake her before she reached the gate; conscious with a red disgust that her movement was almost a run; conscious too of just the confused, handsome face with which he would look after her. She felt as if she had answered a kindness with a great flouncing snub, but at any rate she had got away, though the distance to the gate, her ugly gallop down the Broad Walk, every graceless jerk of which hurt her, seemed endless. She signed from afar to a cab on the stand in the Kensington Road and scrambled into it, glad of the encompassment of the four-wheeler that had officiously obeyed her summons and that, at the end of twenty yards, when she had violently pulled up a glass, permitted her to recognize the fact that she was on the point of bursting into tears. "Even the Maltese cross. Why not that as well as everything else?—especially as I remembered how you like it." "I see. And you were never sure."