Country homes -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
house that she didn't like best, and what she liked better still was to
be left where she was. How could Owen use such an expression without
being conscious of his hypocrisy? Mrs. Gereth, whose criticism was often
gay, dilated with sardonic humor on the happy look a dozen objects from
Poynton would wear and the charming effect they would conduce to when
interspersed with the peculiar features of Ricks. What had her whole
life been but an effort toward completeness and perfection? Better
Waterbath at once, in its cynical unity, than the ignominy of such a
mixture!
All this was of no great help to Fleda, in so far as Fleda tried to rise
to her mission of finding a way out. When at the end of a fortnight Owen
came down once more, it was ostensibly to tackle a farmer whose
proceedings had been irregular; the girl was sure, however, that he had
really come, on the instance of Mona, to see what his mother was doing.
He wished to satisfy himself that she was preparing her departure, and
he wished to perform a duty, distinct but not less imperative, in regard
to the question of the perquisites with which she would retreat. The
tension between them was now such that he had to perpetrate these
offenses without meeting his adversary. Mrs. Gereth was as willing as
himself that he should address to Fleda Vetch whatever cruel remarks he
might have to make: she only pitied her poor young friend for repeated
encounters with a person as to whom she perfectly understood the girl's
repulsion. Fleda thought it nice of Owen not to have expected her to
write to him; he wouldn't have wished any more than herself that she
should have the air of spying on his mother in his interest. What made
it comfortable to deal with him in this more familiar way was the sense
that she understood so perfectly how poor Mrs. Gereth suffered, and that
she measured so adequately the sacrifice the other side did take rather
monstrously for granted. She understood equally how Owen himself
suffered, now that Mona had already begun to make him do things he
didn't like. Vividly Fleda apprehended how _she_ would have first made
him like anything she would have made him do; anything even as
disagreeable as this appearing there to state, virtually on Mona's
behalf, that of course there must be a definite limit to the number of
articles appropriated. She took a longish stroll with him in order to
talk the matter over; to say if she didn't think a dozen pieces, chosen
absolutely at will, would be a handsome allowance; and above all to
consider the very delicate question of whether the advantage enjoyed by
Mrs. Gereth mightn't be left to her honor. To leave it so was what Owen
wished; but there was plainly a young lady at Waterbath to whom, on his
side, he already had to render an account. He was as touching in his
offhand annoyance as his mother was tragic in her intensity; for if he
couldn't help having a sense of propriety about the whole matter, so he
could as little help hating it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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