"Poynton was too splendidly happy," Fleda promptly echoed.
"But it's cured of that now," her companion added.
"Yes, henceforth there'll be a ghost or two."
Mrs. Gereth thought again: she found her young friend suggestive. "Only she won't see them."
"No, 'she' won't see them." Then Fleda said, "What I mean is, for this dear one of ours, that if she had (as I know she did; it's in the very taste of the air!) a great accepted pain—"
She had paused an instant, and Mrs. Gereth took her up. "Well, if she had?"
Fleda still hesitated. "Why, it was worse than yours."
Mrs. Gereth reflected. "Very likely." Then she too hesitated. "The question is if it was worse than yours."
"Mine?" Fleda looked vague.
"Precisely. Yours."