"Then why doesn't he marry her? He's giving you an extraordinary
chance."
"He doesn't dream I've ever thought of him," said Fleda. "Why should he,
if you didn't?"
"It wasn't with me you were in love, my duck." Then Mrs. Gereth added:
"I'll go and tell him."
"If you do any such thing, you shall never see me again,--absolutely,
literally never!"
Mrs. Gereth looked hard at her young friend, showing she saw she must
believe her. "Then you're perverse, you're wicked. Will you swear he
doesn't know?"
"Of course he doesn't know!" cried Fleda indignantly.
Her interlocutress was silent a little. "And that he has no feeling on
_his_ side?"
"For me?" Fleda stared. "Before he has even married her?"
Mrs. Gereth gave a sharp laugh at this. "He ought at least to appreciate
your wit. Oh, my dear, you _are_ a treasure! Doesn't he appreciate
anything? Has he given you absolutely no symptom--not looked a look, not
breathed a sigh?"
"The case," said Fleda coldly, "is as I've had the honor to state it."
"Then he's as big a donkey as his mother! But you know you must account
for their delay," Mrs. Gereth remarked.
"Why must I?" Fleda asked after a moment.
"Because you were closeted with him here so long. You can't pretend at
present, you know, not to have any art."
The girl hesitated an instant; she was conscious that she must choose
between two risks. She had had a secret and the secret was gone. Owen
had one, which was still unbruised, and the greater risk now was that
his mother should lay her formidable hand upon it. All Fleda's
tenderness for him moved her to protect it; so she faced the smaller
peril. "Their delay," she brought herself to reply, "may perhaps be
Mona's doing. I mean because he has lost her the things."
Mrs. Gereth jumped at this. "So that she'll break altogether if I keep
them?"
Fleda winced. "I've told you what I believe about that. She'll make
scenes and conditions; she'll worry him. But she'll hold him fast;
she'll never give him up."
Mrs. Gereth turned it over. "Well, I'll keep them, to try her," she
finally pronounced; at which Fleda felt quite sick, as if she had given
everything and got nothing.