ng.

Did the ghost of that grand passion linger in some corner of his heart?

She slipped her hand under his arm.

"Jon's father is quite ill and old; I saw him."

"You--?"

"Yes, I went there with Jon; I saw them both."

"Well, and what did they say to you?"

"Nothing. They were very polite."

"They would be." He resumed his contemplation of the pipe-joint, and
then said suddenly:

"I must think this over--I'll speak to you again to-night."

She knew this was final for the moment, and stole away, leaving him
still looking at the pipe-joint. She wandered into the fruit-garden,
among the raspberry and currant bushes, without impetus to pick and eat.
Two months ago--she was light-hearted! Even two days ago--light-hearted,
before Prosper Profond told her. Now she felt tangled in a web-of
passions, vested rights, oppressions and revolts, the ties of love and
hate. At this dark moment of discouragement there seemed, even to her
hold-fast nature, no way out. How deal with it--how sway and bend things
to her will, and get her heart's desire? And, suddenly, round the corner
of the high box hedge, she came plump on her mother, walking swiftly,
with an open letter in her hand. Her bosom was heaving, her eyes
dilated, her cheeks flushed. Instantly Fleur thought: 'The yacht! Poor
Mother!'

Annette gave her a wide startled look, and said:

"J'ai la migraine."

"I'm awfully sorry, Mother."

"Oh, yes! you and your father--sorry!"

"But, Mother--I am. I know what it feels like."

Annette's startled eyes grew wide, till the whites showed above them.

"Poor innocent!" she said.

Her mother--so self-possessed, and commonsensical--to look and speak
like this! It was all frightening! Her father, her mother, herself! And
only two months back they had seemed to have everything they wanted in
this world.

Annette crumpled the letter in her hand. Fleur knew that she must ignore
the sight.

"Can't I do anything for your head, Mother?"

Annette shook that head and walked on, swaying her hips.

'It's cruel,' thought Fleur, 'and I was glad! That man! What do men come
prowling for, disturbing everything! I suppose he's tired of her. What
business has he to be tired of my mother? What business!' And at that
thought, so natural and so peculiar, she uttered a little choked laugh.

She ought, of course, to be delighted, but what was there to be
delighted at? Her father didn't really care! Her mother did, perhaps?
She enter