"Never mind how I feel, and never mind what I say when I'm furious!" Mrs. Gereth still more incisively added. "Of course I cling to you, you wretches, or I shouldn't suffer as I do. What I want of him is to see that he takes you; what I want of him is to go with you myself to the place." She looked round the room as if, in feverish haste, for a mantle to catch up; she bustled to the window as if to spy out a cab: she would allow half an hour for the job. Already in her bonnet, she had snatched from the sofa a garment for the street: she jerked it on as she came back. "Find him, find him," she repeated; "come straight out with me, to try, at least, to get at him!" "She wanted to know what right you had to meddle. She said you were not honest."!

"Is that what you came to ask me?" Fleda demanded. "Why must I?" Fleda asked after a moment.

"To you, of course—to enjoy, to keep for yourself." "To give them up?" Fleda hesitated again. "An immense little fib?" Fleda felt weak; she was glad of the support of her seat.