Her hostess was looking at her hard again. "Didn't he tell you—didn't he say anything about it?" "And do you say you love her?"!

Mrs. Brigstock, at this, became vivid at once; Fleda thought she looked most peculiar. She stood straight up, with a queer distention of her whole person and of everything in her face but her mouth, which she gathered into a small, tight orifice. Fleda was painfully divided; her joy was deep within, but it was more relevant to the situation that she should not appear to associate herself with the tone of familiarity in which Owen addressed a lady who had been, and was perhaps still, about to become his mother-in-law. She laid on Mrs. Brigstock's arm a repressive hand. Mrs. Brigstock, however, had already exclaimed on her having so wonderful a defender. "He speaks, upon my word, as if I had come here to be rude to you!" "That he would give his ears to get you?" Mrs. Gereth broke in. "I had a visit from Mrs. Brigstock."

"Ah," said Fleda, "I'm not so sure!" Mrs. Gereth took her up with a cold smile that seemed the warning of experience against hyperbole. "As long as what, please?" Fleda moved to the door and opened it. "I'm not prepared to say. You must have patience and see."