poor Fleda, at every one's beck, and the visitor was to
see no more of her than what the arrangement of luncheon might
tantalizingly show. Maggie described herself to her sister as intending
for a just provocation even the understanding she had had with her
husband that he also should remain invisible. Fleda accordingly awaited
alone the subject of so many manoeuvres--a period that was slightly
prolonged even after the drawing-room door, at 11.30, was thrown open.
Mrs. Gereth stood there with a face that spoke plain, but no sound fell
from her till the withdrawal of the maid, whose attention had
immediately attached itself to the rearrangement of a window-blind and
who seemed, while she bustled at it, to contribute to the pregnant
silence; before the duration of which, however, she retreated with a
sudden stare.

"He has done it," said Mrs. Gereth, turning her eyes avoidingly but not
unperceivingly about her and in spite of herself dropping an opinion
upon the few objects in the room. Fleda, on her side, in her silence,
observed how characteristically she looked at Maggie's possessions
before looking at Maggie's sister. The girl understood and at first had
nothing to say; she was still dumb while Mrs. Gereth selected, with
hesitation, a seat less distasteful than the one that happened to be
nearest. On the sofa near the window the poor woman finally showed what
the two past days had done for the age of her face. Her eyes at last met
Fleda's. "It's the end."

"They're married?"

"They're married."

Fleda came to the sofa in obedience to the impulse to sit down by her;
then paused before her while Mrs. Gereth turned up a dead gray mask. A
tired old woman sat there with empty hands in her lap. "I've heard
nothing," said Fleda. "No answer came."

"That's the only answer. It's the answer to everything." So Fleda saw;
for a minute she looked over her companion's head and far away. "He
wasn't at Waterbath; Mrs. Brigstock must have read your telegram and
kept it. But mine, the one to Poynton, brought something. 'We are
here--what do you want?'" Mrs. Gereth stopped as if with a failure of
voice; on which Fleda sank upon the sofa and made a movement to take her
hand. It met no response; there could be no attenuation. Fleda waited;
they sat facing each other like strangers. "I wanted to go down," Mrs.
Gereth presently continued. "Well, I went."

All the girl's effort tended for the time to a single aim--that of
taking the