en a
meal singularly silent, in spite of the vague little cries with which
Mrs. Brigstock turned up the underside 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 haven'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 you're accustomed
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 grease-catchers. 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