she pretended so tremendously to care for me? And of course at present," said Owen, "she trusts me, if possible, still less."
Fleda paid this statement the homage of a minute's muteness. "As to that, naturally, she has reason."
"Why on earth has she reason?" Then, as his companion, moving away, simply threw up her hands, "I never looked at you—not to call looking—till she had regularly driven me to it," he went on. "I know what I'm about. I do assure you I'm all right!"
"You're not all right—you're all wrong!" Fleda cried in despair. "You mustn't stay here, you mustn't!" she repeated with clear decision. "You make me say dreadful things, and I feel as if I made you say them." But before he could reply she took it up in another tone. "Why in the world, if everything had changed, didn't you break off?"
"I—?" The inquiry seemed to have moved him to stupefaction. "Can you ask me that question when I only wanted to please you? Didn't you seem to show me, in your wonderful way, that that was exactly how? I didn't break off just on purpose to leave it to Mona. I didn't break off so that there shouldn't be a thing to be said against me."
The instant after her challenge Fleda had faced him again in self-reproof. "There isn't a thing to be said against you, and I don't know what non-
