Her gesture of resignation gave him a pretext for catching at her hand, but before he could take it she had put it behind her. They had been seated together on Maggie's single sofa, and her movement brought her to her feet, while Owen, looking at her reproachfully, leaned back in discouragement. "What good does it do me to be here when I find you only a stone?" She met his eyes with all the tenderness she had not yet uttered, and she had not known till this moment how great was the accumulation. "Perhaps, after all," she risked, "there may be even in a stone still some little help for you." Owen sat there a minute staring at her. "Ah, you're beautiful, more beautiful than any one," he broke out, "but I'll be hanged if I can ever understand you! On Tuesday, at your father's, you were beautiful--as beautiful, just before I left, as you are at this instant. But the next day, when I went back, I found it had apparently meant nothing; and now, again, that you let me come here and you shine at me like an angel, it doesn't bring you an inch nearer to saying what I want you to say." He remained a moment longer in the same position; then he jerked himself up. "What I want you to say is that you like me--what I want you to say is that you pity me." He sprang up and came to her. "What I want you to say is that you'll _save_ me!" Fleda hesitated. "Why do you need saving, when you announced to me just now that you're a free man?" He too hesitated, but he was not checked. "It's just for the reason that I'm free. Don't you know what I mean, Miss Vetch? I want you to marry me." Fleda, at this, put out her hand in charity; she held his own, which quickly grasped it a moment, and if he had described her as shining at him it may be assumed that she shone all the more in her deep, still smile. "Let me hear a little more about your freedom first," she said. "I gather that Mrs. Brigstock was not wholly satisfied with the way you disposed of her question." "I dare say she wasn't. But the less she's satisfied the more I'm free." "What bearing have _her_ feelings, pray?" Fleda asked. "Why, Mona's much worse than her mother. She wants much more to give me up." "Then why doesn't she do it?" "She will, as soon as her mother gets home and tells her." "Tells her what?" Fleda inquired. "Why, that I'm in love with _you_!" Fleda debated. "Are you so very sure she will?" "Certainly I'm sure, with all the evidence I already have. That will finish her!" Owen declared. This made his companion thoughtful again. "Can you take such pleasure in her being 'finished'--a poor girl you've once loved?" Owen waited long enough to take in the question; then with a serenity startling even to her knowledge of his nature, "I don't think I can have _really_ loved her, you know," he replied. Fleda broke into a laugh which gave him a surprise as visible as the emotion it testified to. "Then how am I to know that you 'really' love--anybody else?"