Country homes -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
"Misses them--rather! She was awfully sweet on them." Fleda remembered
how sweet Mona had been, and reflected that if that was the sort of plea
he had prepared it was indeed as well he shouldn't see his mother. This
was not all she wanted to know, but it came over her that it was all she
needed. "You see it puts me in the position of not carrying out what I
promised," Owen said. "As she says herself"--he hesitated an
instant--"it's just as if I had obtained her under false pretenses."
Just before, when he spoke with more drollery than he knew, it had left
Fleda serious; but now his own clear gravity had the effect of exciting
her mirth. She laughed out, and he looked surprised, but went on: "She
regards it as a regular sell."
Fleda was silent; but finally, as he added nothing, she exclaimed: "Of
course it makes a great difference!" She knew all she needed, but none
the less she risked, after another pause, an interrogative remark. "I
forget when it is that your marriage takes place?"
Owen came away from the fire and, apparently at a loss where to turn,
ended by directing himself to one of the windows. "It's a little
uncertain; the date isn't quite fixed."
"Oh, I thought I remembered that at Poynton you had told me a day, and
that it was near at hand."
"I dare say I did; it was for the 19th. But we've altered that--she
wants to shift it." He looked out of the window; then he said: "In fact,
it won't come off till Mummy has come round."
"Come round?"
"Put the place as it was." In his offhand way he added: "You know what I
mean!"
He spoke not impatiently, but with a kind of intimate familiarity, the
sweetness of which made her feel a pang for having forced him to tell
her what was embarrassing to him, what was even humiliating. Yes indeed,
she knew all she needed: all she needed was that Mona had proved apt at
putting down that wonderful patent-leather foot. Her type was misleading
only to the superficial, and no one in the world was less superficial
than Fleda. She had guessed the truth at Waterbath and she had suffered
from it at Poynton; at Ricks the only thing she could do was to accept
it with the dumb exaltation that she felt rising. Mona had been prompt
with her exercise of the member in question, for it might be called
prompt to do that sort of thing before marriage. That she had indeed
been premature who should say save those who should have read the matter
in the full light of results? Neither at Waterbath nor at Poynton had
even Fleda's thoroughness discovered all that there was--or rather, all
that there was not--in Owen Gereth. "Of course it makes all the
difference!" she said in answer to his last words. She pursued, after
considering: "What you wish me to say from you then to your mother is
that you demand immediate and practically complete restitution?"
"Yes, please. It's tremendously good of you."
"Very well, then. Will you wait?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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