"Do you really think so?" Fleda presently inquired. "I mean, does he, after the fact, as it were, accept it?"
"Owen—what I've done? I haven't the least idea," said Mrs. Gereth.
"Does Mona?"
"You mean that she'll be the soul of the row?"
"I hardly see Mona as the 'soul' of anything," the girl replied. "But have they made no sound? Have you heard nothing at all?"
"Not a whisper, not a step, in all the eight days. Perhaps they don't know. Perhaps they're crouching for a leap."
"But wouldn't they have gone down as soon as you left?"
"They may not have known of my leaving." Fleda wondered afresh; it struck her as scarcely supposable that some sign shouldn't have flashed from Poynton to London. If the storm was taking this term of silence to gather, even in Mona's breast, it would probably discharge itself in some startling form. The great hush of every one concerned was strange; but when she pressed Mrs. Gereth for some explanation of it that lady only replied with her brave irony: "Oh, I took their breath away!" She had no illusions, however; she was still prepared to fight. What indeed was her spoliation of Poynton but the first engagement of a campaign?
All this was exciting, but Fleda's spirit dropped, at bedtime, in the chamber embellished for her
