The Spoils of Poynton

'Something always passes when one has a little imagination,' our young lady declared.

'I take it you don't mean that Owen has any!' Mrs. Gereth cried with her large laugh.

Fleda was silent a moment. 'No, I don't mean that Owen has any,' she returned at last.

'Why is it you hate him so?' her hostess abruptly inquired.

'Should I love him for all he has made you suffer?'

Mrs. Gereth slowly rose at this and, coming across the walk, took her young friend in her arms and kissed her. She then passed into one of Fleda's an arm perversely and imperiously sociable. 'Let us move a little,' she said, holding her close and giving a slight shiver. They strolled along the terrace, and she brought out another question. 'He was eloquent, then, poor dear—he poured forth the story of his wrongs?'

Fleda smiled down at her companion, who, cloaked and perceptibly bowed, leaned on her heavily and gave her an odd, unwonted sense of age and cunning. She took refuge in an evasion. 'He couldn't tell me anything that I didn't know pretty well already.'

'It's very true that you know everything. No, dear, you haven't a petty mind; you've a lovely imagination and you're the nicest creature in the world. If you were inane, like most girls—like every one, in fact—I would have insulted you, I would have outraged you, and then you would have fled from me in terror. No, now that I think of it,' Mrs. Gereth went on, 'you wouldn't have fled from me; nothing, on the contrary, would have made you budge. You would have cuddled into your warm corner, but you would have been wounded and weeping and martyrized, and you would have taken every opportunity to tell people I'm a brute—as indeed I should have been!' They went to and fro, and she would not allow Fleda, who laughed and protested, to attenuate with any light civility this spirited picture. She praised her cleverness and her patience; then she said it was getting cold and dark and they must go in to tea. She delayed quitting the place, however, and reverted instead to Owen's ultimatum, about which she asked another question or two; in particular whether it had struck Fleda that he really believed she would comply with such a summons.

'I think he really believes that if I try hard enough I can make you:' after uttering which words our young lady stopped short and emulated the embrace she had received a few moments before.

'And you've promised to try: I see. You didn't tell me that, either,' Mrs. Gereth added as they went on. 'But you're rascal enough for anything!' While Fleda was occupied in thinking in what terms she could explain why she had indeed been rascal enough for the reticence thus denounced, her companion broke out with an inquiry somewhat irrelevant and even in form somewhat profane. 'Why the devil, at any rate, doesn't it come off?'

Fleda hesitated. 'You mean their marriage?'

'Of course I mean their marriage!' Fleda hesitated again. 'I haven't the least idea.'

'You didn't ask him?'

'Oh, how in the world can you fancy?' She spoke in a shocked tone.

'Fancy your putting a question so indelicate? I should have put it—I mean in your place; but I'm quite coarse, thank God!' Fleda felt privately that she herself was coarse, or at any rate would presently have to be; and Mrs. Gereth, with a purpose that struck the girl as increasing, continued: 'What, then, was the day to be? Wasn't it just one of these?'

'I'm sure I don't remember.'

It was part of the great rupture and an effect of Mrs. Gereth's character that up to this moment she had been completely and haughtily indifferent to that detail. Now, however, she had a visible reason for being clear about it. She bethought herself and she broke out—'Isn't the day past?' Then, stopping short, she added: 'Upon my word, they must have put it off!' As Fleda made no answer to this she sharply went on: 'Have they put it off?'

'I haven't the least idea,' said the girl.

Her hostess was looking at her hard again. 'Didn't he tell you—didn't he say anything about it?'

Fleda, meanwhile, had had time to make her reflections, which were moreover the continued throb of those that had occupied the interval between Owen's departure and his mother's return. If she should now repeat his words, this wouldn't at all play the game of her definite vow; it would only play the game of her little gagged and blinded desire. She could calculate well enough the effect of telling Mrs. Gereth how she had had it from Owen's troubled lips that Mona was only waiting for the restitution and would do nothing without it. The thing was to obtain the restitution without imparting that knowledge. The only way, also, not to impart it was not to tell any truth at all about it; and the only way to meet this last condition was to reply to her companion, as she presently did: 'He told me nothing whatever: he didn't touch on the subject.'

'Not in any way?'

'Not in any way.'

Mrs. Gereth watched Fleda and considered. 'You haven't any idea if they are waiting for the things?'

'How should I have? I'm not in their counsels.'

'I dare say they are—or that Mona is.' Mrs. Gereth reflected again; she had a bright idea. 'If I don't give in, I'll be hanged if she'll not break off.'

'She'll never, never break off!' said Fleda.

'Are you sure?'

'I can't be sure, but it's my belief.'

'Derived from him?'

The girl hung fire a few seconds. 'Derived from him.'

Mrs. Gereth gave her a long last look, then turned abruptly away. 'It's an awful bore you didn't really get it out of him! Well, come to tea,' she added rather dryly, passing straight into the house.

XI

The sense of her adversary's dryness, which was ominous of something she couldn't read, made Fleda, before