"She knows he would do anything to marry you."
"He hasn't told her so," Fleda said.
"No, but he has told you. That's better still!" laughed Mrs. Gereth. "My dear child," she went on with an air that affected the girl as a sort of blind profanity, "don't try to make yourself out better than you are. I know what you are—I haven't lived with you so much for nothing. You're not quite a saint in heaven yet. Lord, what a creature you'd have thought me in my good time! But you do like it fortunately, you idiot. You're pale with your passion, you sweet thing. That's exactly what I wanted to see. I can't for the life of me think where the shame comes in." Then with a finer significance, a look that seemed to Fleda strange she added: "It's all right."
"I've seen him but twice," said Fleda.
"But twice?" Mrs. Gereth still smiled.
"On the occasion, at papa's, that Mrs. Brigstock told you of, and one day, since then, down at Maggie's."
"Well, those things are between yourselves, and you seem to me both poor creatures at best." Mrs. Gereth spoke with a rich humour which tipped with light for an instant the real conviction. "I don't know what you've got in your veins. You absurdly exaggerate the difficulties. But enough is as good as a feast, and when once I get you abroad together—!" She checked herself
