off, had burst into tears which could n't have been explained, but which might perhaps have been understood. IV. A week later Owen Gereth came down to inform his mother that he had settled with Mona Brigstock; but it was not at all a joy to Fleda (conscious how much to himself it would be a surprise) that he should find her still in the house. That dreadful scene before breakfast had made her position false and odious; it had been followed, after they were left alone, by a scene of her own making with her fatal hostess. She notified Mrs. Gereth of her instant departure: she could n't possibly remain after being of fered to Owen, that way, before her very face, as his mother's candidate for the honor of his hand. That was all he could have seen in such an outbreak, and in the indecency of her standing there to enjoy it. Fleda had, on the prior occasion, dashed out of the room by the shortest course, and, in her confusion, had fallen upon Mona in the garden. She had taken an aimless turn with her, and they had had some talk, rendered at first difficult and almost disagreeable by Mona's apparent suspicion that she had been sent out to spy, as Mrs. Gereth had tried to spy, into her opinions. Fleda was diplomatic enough to treat these opinions as a mystery almost awful; which had an effect so much more than reassuring that at the end of five minutes the young lady from Waterbath suddenly and perversely said: "Why has she never had a winter garden thrown out? If ever I have a place of my own, I mean to have one." Fleda, dismayed, could see the thing, something glazed and piped, on iron pillars, with untidy plants and cane sofas; a shiny excrescence on the noble face of Poynton. She remembered at Waterbath a conservatory where she had caught a bad cold in the company of a stuffed cockatoo fastened to a tropical bough, and a waterless fountain composed of shells stuck into some hardened paste. She asked Mona if her idea would be to make something like this conservatory; to which Mona replied, "Oh no, much finer; we have n't got a winter garden at Waterbath." Fleda wondered if she meant to convey that it was the only grandeur they lacked, and in a moment Mona went on: "But we have got a billiard-room, that I will say for us! There was no billiardroom at Poynton, but there would evidently be one, and it would have, hung on its walls, framed at the " stores," caricature portraits of celebrities, taken from a "society paper." When the two girls had gone in to breakfast, it was for Fleda to see at a glance that there had been a further passage, of some high color, between Owen and his mother; and she had turned pale in guessing to what extremity, at her expense, Mrs. Gereth had found occasion to proceed. Had n't she, after her clumsy flight, been pressed upon Owen in still clearer terms? Mrs. Gereth would practically have said to him: "If you'll take her, I'll move away without a sound. But if you take any one else, any one I'm not sure of, as I am of her, Heaven help me, I'll fight to the death!" Breakfast, this morning, at Poynton, had been a singularly silent meal, in spite of the vague little cries with which Mrs. Brigstock turned up the under side of plates, and the knowing but alarming raps administered by her big knuckles to porcelain cups. Some one had to respond to her, and the duty assigned itself to Fleda, who, while pretending to meet her on the ground of explanation, wondered what Owen thought of a girl still indelicately anxious, after she had been grossly hurled at him, to prove by exhibitions of her fine taste that she was really what his mother pretended. This time, at any rate, their fate was sealed : Owen, as soon as he should get out of -- the house, would describe to Mona that lady's extraordinary conduct, and if anything more had been wanted to "fetch Mona, as he would call it, the deficiency was now made up. Mrs. Gereth in fact took care of that, took care of it by the way, at the last, on the threshold, she said to the younger of her departing guests, with an irony of which the sting was wholly in the sense, not at all in the sound: "We have n't had the talk we might have had, have we? You'll feel that I've neglected you, and you 'll treasure it up against me. Don't, because really, you know, it has been quite an accident, and I've all sorts of information at your disposal. If you should come down again (only you won't, ever, — I feel that!), I should give you plenty of time to worry it out of me. Indeed, there are some things I should quite insist on your learning; not permit you at all, in any settled way, not to learn. Yes, indeed, you'd put me through, and I should put you, my dear! We should have each other to reckon with, and you would see me as I really am. I'm not a bit the vague, mooning, easy creature I dare say you think. However, if you won't come, you won't, n'en parlons plus. It is stupid here, after what 're acyou customed to. We can only, all round, do what we can, eh? For Heaven's sake, don't let your mother forget her precious publication, the female magazine, with the what-do-you-call-'em?—the greasecatchers. There!" Mrs. Gereth, delivering herself from the doorstep, had tossed the periodical higher in air than was absolutely needful, tossed it toward the carriage the retreating party was about to enter. Mona, from the force of habit, the reflex action of the custom of sport, had popped out, with a little spring, a long arm, and intercepted the missile as easily as she would have caused a tennis-ball to rebound from a racket. "Good catch! Owen had cried, so genuinely pleased that practically no notice was taken of his mother's impressive remarks. It was to the accompaniment of romping laughter, as Mrs. Gereth afterwards said, that the carriage had rolled away; but it was while that laughter was still in the air that Fleda Vetch, white and terrible, had turned upon her hostess with her scorching "How could you? Great God, how could you? This lady's perfect blankness was, from the first, a sign of her serene conscience, and the fact that, till indoctrinated, she did n't even know what Fleda meant by resenting her late offense to every susceptibility gave our young woman a sore, scared perception that her own value in the house was just the value, as one might say, of a good agent. Mrs. Gereth was generously sorry, but she was still more surprised, — surprised at Fleda's not having liked to be shown off to Owen as the right sort of wife for him. Why not, in Heaven's name, if she absolutely was the right sort? She had admitted, on explanation, that she could see what her young friend meant by having been laid, as Fleda called it, at his feet; but it struck the girl that the admission was only made to please her, and that Mrs. Gereth was secretly surprised at her not being as happy to be sacrificed to the supremacy of a high standard as she was happy to sacrifice her. She had taken a tremendous fancy to her, but that was on account of the fancy — to Poynton, of course — Fleda herself had taken. Was n't this latter fancy then so great, after all? Fleda felt that she could declare it to be great indeed when really, for the sake of it, she could forgive what she had suffered, and, after reproaches and tears, asseverations and kisses, after learning that she was cared for only as a priestess of the altar and a view of her bruised dignity which left no alternative to flight, could accept the shame with the balm, consent not to depart, take refuge in the thin comfort of at least knowing the truth. The truth was simply that all Mrs. Gereth's scruples were on one side, and that her rul "Be Fleda colored; she hesitated. cause he's too stupid!" Save on one other occasion, at which we shall arrive, little as the reader may believe it, she never came nearer to betraying to Mrs. Gereth that she was in love with Owen. She found a dim amusement in reflecting that if Mona had not been there, and he had not been too stupid, and he verily had asked her, she might, should she have wished to keep her secret, have found it possible to pass off the motive of her action as a mere passion for Poynton. : Mrs. Gereth evidently thought of little but marriage in these days, for she broke out with sudden rapture, in the middle of the week: "I know what they'll do they will marry, but they'll go and live at Waterbath!" There was positive joy in that form of the idea, which she embroidered and developed it seemed so much the safest thing that could happen. "Yes, I'll have you, but I won't go there!" Mona would have said, with a vicious nod at the southern horizon: "we 'll leave your horrid mother alone there for life." It would be an ideal solution, this ingress the lively pair, with their spiritual need of a warmer medium, would playfully punch in the ribs of her ancestral home; for it would not only prevent recurring panic at Poynton; it would offer them, as in one of their gimcrack baskets or other vessels of ugliness, a definite daily felicity that Poynton could never give. Owen might manage his estate, just as he managed it now, and Mrs. Gereth would manage everything else. When, in the hall, on the unforgettable day of his return, she had heard his voice ring out like a call to a terrier, she had still, as Fleda afterwards learned, clutched frantically at the conceit that he had come, at the worst, to announce some compromise; to tell her she would have to put up with the girl, yes, but that some way would be arrived at of leaving her in possession. Fleda Vetch, whom from the first hour no illusion had brushed with its wing, now held her breath, went on tiptoe, wandered in outlying parts of the house and through delicate, muffled rooms, while the mother and son faced each other below. From time to time she stopped to listen; but all was so quiet she was almost frightened she had vaguely expected a sound of contention. tion. It lasted longer than she would have supposed, whatever it was they were doing; and when finally, from a window, she saw Owen stroll out of the house, stop and light a cigarette, and then pensively lose himself in the plantations, she found other matter for trepidation in the fact that Mrs. Gereth did n't immediately come rushing up into her arms. She wondered whether she ought n't to go down to her, and measured the gravity of what had occurred by the circumstance, which she presently ascertained, that the poor lady had retired to her room and wished not to be disturbed. This admonition had been for her maid, with whom Fleda conferred in lowered tones; but the girl, without either fatuity or resentment, judged that, since it could render Mrs. Gereth indifferent even to the ministrations of disinterested attachment, the scene had been tremendous. She was absent from luncheon, where indeed Fleda had enough to do to look Owen in the face; there would be so much to make that hateful in their common memory of the passage in which his last visit had terminated. This had been her apprehension, at least; but as soon as he stood there she was constrained to wonder at the practical simplicity of the ordeal, a simplicity which was really just his own simplicity, the particular thing that, for Fleda Vetch, some other things of course aiding, made almost any direct relation with him pleasant. He had neither wit, nor tact, nor inspiration: all she could say was that when they were together the alienation these charms were usually depended on to allay did n't occur. On this occasion, for instance, he did so much better than 66 carry off" an awkward remembrance: he simply did n't have it. He had clean forgotten that she was the girl his mother would have settled upon him; he was conscious only that she was there in a manner for service, conscious of the dumb instinct that, from the first, had made him regard her not as complicating his intercourse with that personage, but as simplifying it. Fleda found it beautiful that this theory should have survived the incident of the other day; found it exquisite that whereas she was conscious, through faint reverberations, that for her kind little circle at large, whom it did n't concern, her tendency had begun to define itself as parasitical, this strong young man, who had a right to judge her and even a reason to loathe her, did n't judge and did n't loathe, let her down gently, treated her as if she pleased him, and in fact evidently liked her to be just where she was. asked herself what he did when Mona denounced her, and the only answer to the question was that perhaps Mona did n't denounce her. If Mona was inarticulate, he was n't such a fool, then, to marry her. That he was glad Fleda was there was at any rate sufficiently shown "Only give her time," said Fleda. She had advanced to the threshold of the door thus thrown open to her, and, without exactly crossing it, threw in an appreciative glance. She asked Owen when his marriage would take place, and in the light of his reply read that Mrs. Gereth's wretched attitude would have no influence at all on the event, absolutely fixed when he came down, and distant by only three months. He liked Fleda seeming to be on his side, though that was a secondary matter, for what really most concerned him now was the line his mother took about the house, her declared unwillingness to give it up. "Naturally I want my house, you know," he said, "and my father made every arrangement for me to have it. But she may make it devilish awkward. What in the world's a fellow to do?" This it was that Owen wanted to know, and there could be no better proof of his friendliness than his air of depending on Fleda Vetch to tell him. She questioned him, they spent an hour together, and, as he freely reproduced his row, she found herself saddened and frightened by the material he seemed to offer her to deal with. It was devilish awkward, and it was so in part because Owen had no imagination. It had lodged itself in that empty chamber that his mother hated the surrender because she hated Mona. He did n't of course understand why she hated Mona, but this belonged to an order of mysteries that never troubled him there were lots of things, especially in people's minds, that a fellow did n't understand. Poor Owen went through life with a frank dread of people's minds: there were explanations he would have been almost as shy of receiving as of giving. There was, therefore, nothing that accounted for anything, though in its way it was vivid enough, in his picture to Fleda of his mother's virtual refusal to move. That was simply what it was; for did n't she refuse to move when she as good as declared that she would move only with the furniture? It was the furniture she would n't give up; and what was the good of Poynton without the furniture? Besides, the furniture happened to be his, just as everything else happened to be. The furniture, the word, on his lips, had somehow, for Fleda, the sound of washing-stands and copious bedding, and she could well imagine the note it might have struck for Mrs. Gereth. The girl, in this interview with him, spoke of the contents of the house only as "the works of art." It did n't, however, in the least matter to Owen what they were called; what did matter, she easily guessed, was that it had been laid upon him by Mona, been made in effect a condition of her consent, that he should hold his mother to the strictest responsibility for them. Mona had already entered upon the enjoyment of her rights. She had made him feel that Mrs. Gereth had been liberally provided for, and had asked him cogently what room there would be at Ricks for the innumerable treasures of the big house. Ricks, the sweet little place offered to the mistress of Poynton as the refuge of her declining years, had been left to the late Mr. Gereth, a considerable time before his death, by an old maternal aunt, a good lady who had spent NO. 462. VOL. LXXVII. 29 - most of her life there. The house had in recent times been let, but it was amply furnished, it contained all the defunct aunt's possessions. Owen had lately inspected it, and he communicated to Fleda that he had quietly taken Mona to see it. It was n't a place like Poynton, what dower-house ever was? — but it was an awfully jolly little place, and Mona had taken a tremendous fancy to it. If there were a few things at Poynton that were Mrs. Gereth's peculiar property, of course she must take them away with her; but one of the matters that became clear to Fleda was that this transfer would be immediately subject to Miss Brigstock's approval. The special business that she herself now became aware of being charged with was that of seeing Mrs. Gereth safely and singly off the premises. Her heart failed her, after Owen had returned to London, with the ugliness of this duty, with the ugliness, indeed, of the whole horrid conflict. She saw nothing of Mrs. Gereth that day; she spent it in roaming, with sick sighs, and feeling, as she passed from room to room, that what was expected of her companion was really dreadful. It would have been better never to have had such a place than to have had it and lose it. It was odious to her to have to look for solutions: what a strange relation between mother and son when there was no fundamental tenderness out of which a solution would irrepressibly spring! Was it Owen who was mainly responsible for that poverty? Fleda could n't think so when she remembered that, so far as he was concerned, Mrs. Gereth would still have been welcome to have her seat by the Poynton fire. The fact that from the moment one admitted his marriage one saw no very different course for Owen to take made her all the rest of that aching day find her best relief in the mercy of not having yet to face her hostess. She dodged and dreamed and romanced away the time; instead of inventing a remedy |