"I don't know," said Owen. "I thought I might hear this morning."
"She can't have gone back," Fleda declared. "Mona would have written on the spot."
"Oh yes, she will have written bang off!" Owen cheerfully conceded.
Fleda thought again. "So that, even in the event of her mother's not having got home till the morning you would have had your letter at the latest to-day. You see she has had plenty of time."
Owen hesitated; then "Oh, she's all right!" he laughed. "I go by Mrs. Brigstock's certain effect on her—the effect of the temper the old lady showed when we parted. Do you know what she asked me?" he sociably continued. "She asked me in a kind of nasty manner if I supposed you 'really' cared anything about me. Of course I told her I supposed you didn't—not a solitary rap. How could I ever suppose you do, with your extraordinary ways? It doesn't matter; I could see she thought I lied."
"You should have told her, you know, that I had seen you in town only that one time," Fleda suggested.
"By Jove, I did—for you! It was only for you."
Something in this touched the girl so that for a moment she could not trust herself to speak. "You're an honest man," she said at last. She had gone to the door and opened it. "Good-bye."
Even yet, however, Owen hung back. "But even
