re. She praised her cleverness and her patience; then
she said it was getting cold and dark and they must go in to tea. She
delayed quitting the place, however, and reverted instead to Owen's
ultimatum, about which she asked another question or two; in particular
whether it had struck Fleda that he really believed she would comply
with such a summons.

"I think he really believes that if I try hard enough I can make you:"
after uttering which words our young lady stopped short and emulated the
embrace she had received a few moments before.

"And you've promised to try: I see. You didn't tell me that, either,"
Mrs. Gereth added as they went on. "But you're rascal enough for
anything!" While Fleda was occupied in thinking in what terms she could
explain why she had indeed been rascal enough for the reticence thus
denounced, her companion broke out with an inquiry somewhat irrelevant
and even in form somewhat profane. "Why the devil, at any rate, doesn't
it come off?"

Fleda hesitated. "You mean their marriage?"

"Of course I mean their marriage!" Fleda hesitated again. "I haven't the
least idea."

"You didn't ask him?"

"Oh, how in the world can you fancy?" She spoke in a shocked tone.

"Fancy your putting a question so indelicate? _I_ should have put it--I
mean in your place; but I'm quite coarse, thank God!" Fleda felt
privately that she herself was coarse, or at any rate would presently
have to be; and Mrs. Gereth, with a purpose that struck the girl as
increasing, continued: "What, then, _was_ the day to be? Wasn't it just
one of these?"

"I'm sure I don't remember."

It was part of the great rupture and an effect of Mrs. Gereth's
character that up to this moment she had been completely and haughtily
indifferent to that detail. Now, however, she had a visible reason for
being clear about it. She bethought herself and she broke out--"Isn't
the day past?" Then, stopping short, she added: "Upon my word, they must
have put it off!" As Fleda made no answer to this she sharply went on:
"_Have_ they put it off?"

"I haven't the least idea," said the girl.

Her hostess was looking at her hard again. "Didn't he tell you--didn't
he say anything about it?"

Fleda, meanwhile, had had time to make her reflections, which were
moreover the continued throb of those that had occupied the interval
between Owen's departure and his mother's return. If she should now
repeat his words, this wouldn't at all play the game of