place. She did know Waterbath, and she despised it--she had
that qualification for sympathy. Her sympathy was intelligent, for she
read deep into the matter; she stared, aghast, as it came home to her
for the first time, at the cruel English custom of the expropriation of
the lonely mother. Mr. Gereth had apparently been a very amiable man,
but Mr. Gereth had left things in a way that made the girl marvel. The
house and its contents had been treated as a single splendid object;
everything was to go straight to his son, and his widow was to have a
maintenance and a cottage in another county. No account whatever had
been taken of her relation to her treasures, of the passion with which
she had waited for them, worked for them, picked them over, made them
worthy of each other and the house, watched them, loved them, lived with
them. He appeared to have assumed that she would settle questions with
her son, that he could depend upon Owen's affection. And in truth, as
poor Mrs. Gereth inquired, how could he possibly have had a
prevision--he who turned his eyes instinctively from everything
repulsive--of anything so abnormal as a Waterbath Brigstock? He had been
in ugly houses enough, but had escaped that particular nightmare.
Nothing so perverse could have been expected to happen as that the heir
to the loveliest thing in England should be inspired to hand it over to
a girl so exceptionally tainted. Mrs. Gereth spoke of poor Mona's taint
as if to mention it were almost a violation of decency, and a person who
had listened without enlightenment would have wondered of what fault the
girl had been or had indeed not been guilty. But Owen had from a boy
never cared, had never had the least pride or pleasure in his home.

"Well, then, if he doesn't care!"--Fleda exclaimed, with some
impetuosity; stopping short, however, before she completed her sentence.

Mrs. Gereth looked at her rather hard. "If he doesn't care?"

Fleda hesitated; she had not quite had a definite idea. "Well--he'll
give them up."

"Give what up?"

"Why, those beautiful things."

"Give them up to whom?" Mrs. Gereth more boldly stared.

"To you, of course--to enjoy, to keep for yourself."

"And leave his house as bare as your hand? There's nothing in it that
isn't precious."

Fleda considered; her friend had taken her up with a smothered ferocity
by which she was slightly disconcerted. "I don't mean of course that he
should surrender everything; but he mi