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Updated: May 22, 2025
Her motive and her manner both must have been lost upon the young gentleman. He forthwith set about amusing himself in a way his little entertainer had not counted upon, namely, with giving a chase to her wits; partly to pass away the time, and partly to gratify his curiosity, as he said, "to see what Fleda was made of."
Fleda would readily have given her credit for them all; and yet, the nautilus may as soon compare notes with the navigator, the canary might as well study Mälzel's metronome, as a child of nature and a woman of the world comprehend and suit each other. The nature of the one must change or the two must remain the world wide apart. Fleda felt it, she did not know why. Mrs.
"Will you let me kiss you?" she said to the woman, and now it was the woman's turn to flush. "You are the daughter of the Ry of Rys," she said almost shyly, yet proudly. "I'm a girl with a debt to pay and can never pay it," Fleda answered, putting her arms impulsively around the woman's neck and kissing her. Then she took the brooch from the woman's hand, and pinned it at her throat.
"I know that," said Fleda, whose eyes were dropping soft tears and glittering at the same time with gratified feeling. "What made him be a soldier, grandpa? "Oh, I don't know, dear! he was too good to make a farmer of or his high spirit wanted to rise in the world he couldn't rest without trying to be something more than other folks. I don't know whether people are any happier for it."
Fleda turned from the fire to remove her visitor's bonnet and wrappings, but the former was all Mrs. Carleton would give her; she threw off shawl and tippet on the nearest chair. It was the same Mrs. Carleton of old, Fleda saw while this was doing, unaltered almost entirely.
There was a half look at the speaker that seemed to deny the truth of that, but Fleda did not otherwise answer. She begged her visiter to sit down, and throwing off the white shawl and black cloak, took tongs in hand and began to mend the fire. Mrs. Carleton sat considering a moment the figure of the fire-maker, not much regardful of the skill she was bringing to bear upon the sticks of wood.
Fleda had seen her aunt before, though several years back, and not long enough to get acquainted with her.
Carleton smiled as he now and then saw a glance of intelligence or admiration pass between one and another of the company; and a little knowing nod from Mrs. Evelyn, and many a look from his mother, confessed he had been quite right. Those two, Mrs. Evelyn and Mrs. Carleton, were by far the most kind and eager in their attention to Fleda. Mrs. Thorn did little else but look at her.
Fleda made up her mind she would be wanted at home; all the rather, perhaps, for Hugh's mysterious "hush;" and there was something in the hearty kindness and truth of these friends that she felt particularly genial. And if there was a lack of silver at the board, its place was more than filled with the pure gold of association. They sat down to table, but aunt Miriam's eyes devoured Fleda. Mr.
"Because I want to understand you, Fleda, and to be sure that you understand yourself." "I do," said Fleda, quietly, and with a quivering lip. "What is there that you dislike about Mr. Olmney?" "Nothing in the world, aunt Miriam." "Then, what is the reason you cannot like him enough?" "Because, aunt Miriam," said Fleda, speaking in desperation, "there isn't enough of him.
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