ad certainly to recognize that, so
far as the theory of the matter went, the game had been won. Oh, she had
been made sure of!

She couldn't, however, succeed for so very many minutes in deferring her
exposure. "Why didn't you wait, dearest? Ah, why didn't you wait?"--if
that inconsequent appeal kept rising to her lips to be cut short before
it was spoken, this was only because at first the humility of gratitude
helped her to gain time, enabled her to present herself very honestly as
too overcome to be clear. She kissed her companion's hands, she did
homage at her feet, she murmured soft snatches of praise, and yet in the
midst of it all was conscious that what she really showed most was the
wan despair at her heart. She saw Mrs. Gereth's glimpse of this despair
suddenly widen, heard the quick chill of her voice pierce through the
false courage of endearments. "Do you mean to tell me at such an hour as
this that you've really lost him?"

The tone of the question made the idea a possibility for which Fleda had
nothing from this moment but terror. "I don't know, Mrs. Gereth; how can
I say?" she asked. "I've not seen him for so long; as I told you just
now, I don't even know where he is. That's by no fault of his," she
hurried on: "he would have been with me every day if I had consented.
But I made him understand, the last time, that I'll receive him again
only when he's able to show me that his release has been complete and
definite. Oh, he can't yet, don't you see, and that's why he hasn't been
back. It's far better than his coming only that we should both be
miserable. When he does come he'll be in a better position. He'll be
tremendously moved by the splendid thing you've done. I know you wish me
to feel that you've done it as much for me as for Owen, but your having
done it for me is just what will delight him most! When he hears of it,"
said Fleda, in desperate optimism, "when he hears of it--" There indeed,
regretting her advance, she quite broke down. She was wholly powerless
to say what Owen would do when he heard of it. "I don't know what he
won't make of you and how he won't hug you!" she had to content herself
with lamely declaring. She had drawn Mrs. Gereth to a sofa with a vague
instinct of pacifying her and still, after all, gaining time; but it was
a position in which her great duped benefactress, portentously patient
again during this demonstration, looked far from inviting a "hug." Fleda
found herself tr