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"Why, my little wood-flower, what could have brought you here to-night?" she exclaimed. The child sidled up to her godmother and did not answer at first, but there was that in her eye which at once led to suspicion that everything was not right.
Maurice brusquely interrupted this tirade, laughing in advance at what he was about to say. "My conscience? Oh, tender and artless Violette; Oh, modest wood-flower! Conscience, my poor friend, is like a Suede glove, you can wear it soiled. Adieu! We will talk of this another day, when Mademoiselle Irma is not waiting for me."
But Fleda could look at them now; and if her colour came and went as frankly as when she was a child, she could speak to them and meet their advances with the same free and sweet self-possession as then; the rare dignity of a little wood-flower, that is moved by a breath, but recovers as easily and instantly its quiet standing.
But it sank into her heart, "Hugh will not get over this!" and when she entered the sitting-room, what Mr. Carleton years before had said of the wood-flower was come true in its fullest extent "a storm-wind had beaten it to the ground." She was able literally to do no more than Barby had said, sit down and keep herself quiet.
But Fleda could look at them now; and if her colour came and went as frankly as when she was a child, she could speak to them and meet their advances with the same free and sweet self-possession as then the rare dignity a little wood-flower, that is moved by a breath, but recovers as easily and instantly its quiet standing.
Maurice brusquely interrupted this tirade, laughing in advance at what he was about to say. "My conscience? Oh, tender and artless Violette; Oh, modest wood-flower! Conscience, my poor friend, is like a Suede glove, you can wear it soiled. Adieu! We will talk of this another day, when Mademoiselle Irma is not waiting for me."
All the rest of the way Fleda was a picture of resignation; transparently pale, meek and pure, and fragile seemingly, as the delicatest wood-flower that grows. Mr. Carleton looked grieved, and leaning forward he took one of her hands in his own and held it affectionately till they got to the end of their journey.
All the rest of the way Fleda was a picture of resignation; transparently pale, meek and pure, and fragile seemingly as the delicatest wood-flower that grows. Mr. Carleton looked grieved, and leaning forward he took one of her hands in his own and held it affectionately, till they got to the end of their journey.
And I was supremely comfortable where I was." But at this point Beatrice appeared and joined the procession, radiant, fresh as a fragrant wood-flower, full of life as a young bird. Behind her came Teresina, the maid, necessary at every minute for the Marchesa's comfort, her pink young cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkling with anticipation, fastening on her hat as she walked.
Maurice brusquely interrupted this tirade, laughing in advance at what he was about to say. "My conscience? Oh, tender and artless Violette; Oh, modest wood-flower! Conscience, my poor friend, is like a Suede glove, you can wear it soiled. Adieu! We will talk of this another day, when Mademoiselle Irma is not waiting for me."
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