"Jon's father is quite ill and old; I saw him."
"You—?"
"Yes, I went there with Jon; I saw them both."
"Well, and what did they say to you?"
"Nothing. They were very polite."
"They would be." He resumed his contemplation of the pipe-joint, and then said suddenly: "I must think this over—I'll speak to you again to-night."
She knew this was final for the moment, and stole away, leaving him still looking at the pipe-joint. She wandered into the fruit-garden, among the raspberry and currant bushes, without impetus to pick and eat. Two months ago—she was light-hearted! Even two days ago—light-hearted, before Prosper Profond told her. Now she felt tangled in a web—of passions, vested rights, oppressions and revolts, the ties of love and hate. At this dark moment of discouragement there seemed, even to her hold-fast nature, no way out. How deal with it—how sway and bend things to her will, and get her heart's desire? And, suddenly, round the corner of the high box hedge, she came plump on her mother, walking swiftly, with an open letter in her hand. Her bosom was heaving, her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed. Instantly Fleur thought: "The yacht! Poor Mother!"
Annette gave her a wide startled look, and said:
"J'ai la migraine."
"I'm awfully sorry, Mother."