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 her 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 sure. 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 pursued: "Have they put it off?"
"I haven't the least idea," said the girl.
Her hostess was again looking at her hard. "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 result of telling Mrs. Gereth how she had had
