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Updated: May 16, 2025
But such a shadow had come upon every other face that Fleda's pleasure was completely overclouded. She smelled at her roses, just ready to burst into tears, and wishing sincerely that they had never come. "I am afraid, my dear Fleda," said Mrs. Evelyn quietly going on with her breakfast, "that there is a thorn somewhere among those flowers." Fleda was too sure of it.
Skillcorn had been called in good time by Barby at Fleda's suggestion, and coming down stairs had opined discontentedly that "a man hadn't no right to be took out of bed in the morning afore he could see himself." But this, and Barby's spirited reply, that "there was no chance of his doing that at any time of day, so it was no use to wait," Fleda did not repeat.
They have made a rose of you, Miss Fleda." "How beautiful! " was Fleda's answer. "Somebody he didn't say who desired to know particularly how Miss Ringgan was to-day." "Somebody is very kind!" said Fleda from the bottom of her heart. "But dear Mrs. Pritchard, I shall want another dish."
Fleda's memory had retained only an indistinct vision of beauty, like the face of an angel in a cloud as painters have drawn it; now came out the beautiful features one after another, as if she had never seen them. So far nature had seemed to stand alone. But now another hand appeared; not interfering with nature, but adding to her.
It was a chill spring afternoon and Fleda was in her old trim, the black cloak, the white shawl over it, and the hood of grey silk. And in that trim she walked into the sitting-room. A lady was there, in a travelling dress, a stranger. Fleda's eye took in her outline and feature one moment with a kind of bewilderment, the next with perfect intelligence.
I think Fleda's strong pastoral tastes are likely to develope themselves in a new direction." Mrs. Evelyn looked with a partial smile at the pretty features which the business of eating the strawberries displayed in sundry novel and picturesque points of view; and asked what she meant? "I don't know, " said Constance, intent upon her basket, "I feel a friend's distress for Mr.
Carleton?" said Constance. "It is just about nine years, Miss Constance," he answered gravely. But that little reminder, slight as it was, overcame the small remnant of Fleda's self-command; the vinaigrette fell from her hands and her face was hid in them; whatever became of pain, tears must flow. "Forgive me," said Mr.
I remember grandpa used to say he didn't believe she could get a bean into the middle of her bread." "A bean into the middle of her bread!" said Hugh. But Fleda's sobriety was quite banished by his mystified look, and her laugh rang along over the fields before she answered him. That laugh had blown away all the vapours, for the present at least, and they jogged on again very sociably.
The tears rushed to Fleda's eyes, but she said no, and managed to mount the stairs, though it was evidently an exertion. Mrs. Carleton's dressing-room, as her son had called it, looked very pleasant when they got there.
Fleda watched him. "What does Fleda herself say?" said he stopping short suddenly. His face softened and his eye changed as it fell upon her, for the first time that day. Fleda saw her opening; she came to him, within his arms, and laid her head upon his breast. "What does Fleda say?" said he, softly kissing her. Fleda's tears said a good deal, that needed no interpreter.
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