_Host_. Now, my young guest! methinks you're allycholy; I pray
you why is it?
_Jul_. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Some nights after their arrival, the doctor and Fleda were
seated at tea in the little snug old-fashioned back parlour,
where the doctor's nicest of housekeepers, Mrs. Pritchard, had
made it ready for them. In general, Mrs. Pritchard herself
poured it out for the doctor, but she descended most
cheerfully from her post of elevation, whenever Fleda was
there to fill it.
The doctor and Fleda sat cozily looking at each other across
the toast and chipped beef, their glances grazing the tea-urn,
which was just on one side of their range of vision. A
comfortable Liverpool-coal fire in a state of repletion burned
away indolently, and gave everything else in the room somewhat
of its own look of sonsy independence except, perhaps, the
delicate creature at whom the doctor, between sips of his tea,
took rather wistful observations.
"When are you going to Mrs. Evelyn?" he said, breaking the
silence.
"They say next week, Sir."
"I shall be glad of it!" said the doctor.
"Glad of it?" said Fleda, smiling. "Do you want to get rid of
me, uncle Orrin?"
"Yes!" said he. "This isn't the right place for you. You are
too much alone."
"No, indeed, Sir. I have been reading voraciously, and
enjoying myself as much as possible. I would quite as lieve be
here as there, putting you out of the question."
"I wouldn't as lieve have you," said he, shaking his head.
"What were you musing about before tea? your face gave me the
heartache."
"My face!" said Fleda, smiling, while an instant flush of the
eyes answered him; "what was the matter with my face?"
"That is the very thing I want to know."
"Before tea? I was only thinking," said Fleda, her look
going back to the fire from association "thinking of
different things not disagreeably; taking a kind of bird's-
eye view of things, as one does sometimes."
"I don't believe you ever take other than a bird's-eye view of
anything," said her uncle. "But what were you viewing just
then, my little Saxon?"
"I was thinking of them at home," said Fleda, smiling,
thoughtfully; "and I somehow had perched myself on a point of
observation, and was taking one of those wider views which are
always rather sobering."
"Views of what?"
"Of life, Sir."
"As how?" said the doctor.
"How near the end is to the beginning, and how short the space
between, and how little the ups and downs of it will matter if
we take the right road and get home."
"Pshaw!" said the doctor.
But Fleda knew him too well to take his interjection otherwise
than most kindly. And, indeed, though he whirled round and ate
his toast at the fire discontentedly, his look came back to
her after a little, with even more than its usual gentle
appreciation.
"What do you suppose you have come to New York for?" said he.
"To see you, Sir, in the first place, and the Evelyns in the
second."
"And who in the third?"
"I am afraid the third place is vacant," said Fleda, smiling.
"You are, eh? Well I don't know but I know that I have
been inquired of by two several and distinct people as to your
coming. Ah! you needn't open your bright eyes at me, because I
shall not tell you. Only let me ask you have no notion of
fencing off, my Queechy rose, with a hedge of blackthorn, or
anything of that kind, have you?"
"I have no notion of any fences at all, except invisible ones,
Sir," said Fleda, laughing, and colouring very prettily.
"Well, those are not American fences," said the doctor; "so, I
suppose, I am safe enough. Whom did I see you out riding with
yesterday?"
"I was with Mrs. Evelyn," said Fleda. "I didn't want to go,
but I couldn't very well help myself."
"Mrs. Evelyn! Mrs. Evelyn wasn't driving, was she?"
"No, Sir; Mr. Thorn was driving."
"I thought so. Have you seen your old friend, Mr. Carleton,
yet?"
"Do you know him, uncle Orrin?"
"Why shouldn't I? What's the difficulty of knowing people?
Have you seen him?"
"But how did you know that he was an old friend of mine?"
"Question!" said the doctor. "Hum well, I won't tell you; so
there's the answer. Now, will you answer me?"
"I have not seen him, Sir."
"Haven't met him, in all the times you have been to Mrs.
Evelyn's?"
"No, Sir. I have been there but once in the evening, uncle
Orrin. He is just about sailing for England."
"Well, you're going there to-night, aren't you? Run, and
bundle yourself up, and I'll take you there before I begin my
work."
There was a small party that evening at Mrs. Evelyn's. Fleda
was very early. She ran up to the first floor rooms lighted
and open, but nobody there.
"Fleda Ringgan," called out the voice of Constance from over
the stairs, "is that you?"
"No," said Fleda.
"Well, just wait till I come down to you. My darling little
Fleda, it's delicious of you to come so early. Now, just tell
me, am I captivating?"
"Well, I retain self-possession," said Fleda. "I cannot tell
about the strength of head of other people."
"You wretched little creature! Fleda, don't you admire my
hair? it's new style, my dear just come out; the Delancys
brought it out with them; Eloise Delancy taught it us; isn't
it graceful? Nobody in New York has it yet, except the
Delancys and we."
"How do you know but they have taught somebody else?" said
Fleda.
"I won't talk to you! Don't you like it?"
"I am not sure that I do not like you in your ordinary way
better."
Constance made a gesture of impatience, and then pulled Fleda
after her into the drawing-rooms.
"Come in here; I wont waste the elegancies of my toilet upon
your dull perceptions; come here and let me show you some
flowers aren't those lovely? This bunch came to-day, 'for
Miss Evelyn', so Florence will have it it is hers, and it's
very mean of her, for I am perfectly certain it is mine; it's
come from somebody who wasn't enlightened on the subject of my
family circle, and has innocently imagined that two Miss
Evelyns could not belong to the same one! I know the floral
representatives of all Florence's dear friends and admirers,
and this isn't from any of them. I have been distractedly
endeavouring all day to find who it came from, for if I don't,
I can't take the least comfort in it."
"But you might enjoy the flowers for their own sake, I should
think," said Fleda, breathing the sweetness of myrtle and
heliotrope.
"No, I can't, for I have all the time the association of some
horrid creature they might have come from, you know; but it
will do just as well to humbug people: I shall make Cornelia
Schenck believe that this came from my dear Mr. Carleton!"
"No, you wont, Constance," said Fleda, gently.
"My dear little Fleda, I shock you, don't I? but I sha'n't
tell any lies; I shall merely expressively indicate a
particular specimen, and say, 'My dear Cornelia, do you
perceive that this is an English rose?' and then it's none of
my business, you know, what she believes; and she will be
dying with curiosity and despair all the rest of the evening."
"I shouldn't think there would be much pleasure in that, I
confess," said Fleda, gravely. "How very ungracefully and
stiffly those are made up!"
"My dear little Queechy rose," said Constance, impatiently,
"you are, pardon me, as fresh as possible. They can't cut the
flowers with long stems, you know; the gardeners would be
ruined. That is perfectly elegant; it must have cost at least
ten dollars. My dear little Fleda!" said Constance, capering
off before the long pier-glass, "I am afraid I am not
captivating! Do you think it would be an improvement if I put
drops in my ears? or one curl behind them? I don't know
which Mr. Carleton likes best!"
And with her head first on one side and then on the other, she
stood before the glass looking at herself and Fleda by turns
with such a comic expression of mock doubt and anxiety, that
no gravity but her own could stand it.
"She is a silly girl, Fleda, isn't she?" said Mrs. Evelyn,
coming up behind them.
"Mamma! am I captivating?" cried Constance, wheeling round.
The mother's smile said "Very!"
"Fleda is wishing she were out of the sphere of my influence,
Mamma. Wasn't Mr. Olmney afraid of my corrupting you?" she
said, with a sudden pull-up in front of Fleda. "My blessed
stars! there's somebody's voice I know. Well, I believe it is
true that a rose without thorns is a desideratum. Mamma, is
Mrs. Thorn's turban to be an invariable _pendant_ to your
_coiffure_ all the while Miss Ringgan is here?"
"Hush!"
With the entrance of company came Constance's return from
extravaganzas to a sufficiently graceful every-day manner,
only enough touched with high spirits and lawlessness to free
it from the charge of commonplace. But the contrast of these
high spirits with her own rather made Fleda's mood more quiet,
and it needed no quieting. Of the sundry people that she knew
among those presently assembled there were none that she
wanted to talk to; the rooms were hot, and she felt nervous
and fluttered, partly from encounters already sustained, and
partly from a little anxious expecting of Mr. Carleton's
appearance. The Evelyns had not said he was to be there, but
she had rather gathered it; and the remembrance of old times
was strong enough to make her very earnestly wish to see him,
and dread to be disappointed. She swung clear of Mr. Thorn,
with some difficulty, and ensconced herself under the shadow
of a large cabinet, between that and a young lady who was very
good society, for she wanted no help in carrying on the
business of it. All Fleda had to do was to sit still and
listen, or not listen, which she generally preferred. Miss
Tomlinson discoursed upon varieties, with great sociableness
and satisfaction; while poor Fleda's mind, letting all her
sense and nonsense go, was again taking a somewhat bird's-eye
view of things, and from the little centre of her post in Mrs.
Evelyn's drawing-room, casting curious glances over the
panorama of her life England, France, New York, and Queechy!
half coming to the conclusion that her place henceforth was
only at the last, and that the world and she had nothing to do
with each other. The tide of life and gaiety seemed to have
thrown her on one side, as something that could not swim with
it, and to be rushing past too strongly and swiftly for her
slight bark ever to launch upon it again. Perhaps the shore
might be the safest and happiest place; but it was sober in
the comparison; and, as a stranded bark might look upon the
white sails flying by, Fleda saw the gay faces and heard the
light tones with which her own could so little keep company.
But as little they with her. Their enjoyment was not more
foreign to her than the causes which moved it were strange.
Merry? she might like to be merry, but she could sooner
laugh with the north wind than with one of those vapid faces,
or with any face that she could not trust. Conversation might
be pleasant, but it must be something different from the noisy
cross-fire of nonsense that was going on in one quarter, or
the profitless barter of nothings that was kept up on the
other side of her. Rather Queechy and silence, by far, than
New York and _this!_
And through it all, Miss Tomlinson talked on and was happy.
"My dear Fleda! what are you back here for?" said Florence,
coming up to her.
"I was glad to be at a safe distance from the fire."
"Take a screen here! Miss Tomlinson, your conversation is
too exciting for Miss Ringgan; look at her cheeks! I must
carry you off; I want to show you a delightful contrivance for
transparencies that I learned the other day."
The seat beside her was vacated, and, not casting so much as a
look towards any quarter whence a possible successor to Miss
Tomlinson might be arriving, Fleda sprang up and took a place
in the far corner of the room by Mrs. Thorn, happily not
another vacant chair in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Thorn had
shown a very great fancy for her, and was almost as good
company as Miss Tomlinson not quite, for it was necessary
sometimes to answer, and therefore necessary always to hear.
But Fleda liked her; she was thoroughly amiable, sensible, and
good-hearted; and Mrs. Thorn, very much gratified at Fleda's
choice of a seat, talked to her with a benignity which Fleda
could not help answering with grateful pleasure.
"Little Queechy, what has driven you into the corner?" said
Constance, pausing a moment before her.
"It must have been a retiring spirit," said Fleda.
"Mrs. Thorn, isn't she lovely?"
Mrs. Thorn's smile at Fleda might almost have been called
that, it was so full of benevolent pleasure. But she spoiled
it by her answer. "I don't believe I am the first one to find
it out.".
"But what are you looking so sober for?" Constance went on,
taking Fleda's screen from her hand and fanning her diligently
with it "you don't talk. The gravity of Miss Ringgan's face
casts a gloom over the brightness of the evening. I couldn't
conceive what made me feel chilly in the other room till I
looked about and found that the shade came from this corner;
and Mr. Thorn's teeth, I saw, were chattering."
"Constance," said Fleda, laughing and vexed, and making the
reproof more strongly with her eyes "how can you talk so?"
"Mrs. Thorn, isn't it true?"
Mrs. Thorn's look at Fleda was the essence of good humour.
"Will you let Lewis come and take you a good long ride to-
morrow?"
"No, Mrs. Thorn, I believe not I intend to stay
perseveringly at home to-morrow, and see if it is possible to
be quiet a day in New York."
"But you will go with me to the concert to-morrow night?
both of you and hear Truffi; come to my house and take
tea, and go from there? will you, Constance?"
"My dear Mrs. Thorn," said Constance, "I shall be in
ecstasies, and Miss Ringgan was privately imploring me last
night to find some way of getting her to it. We regard such
material pleasures as tea and muffins with great indifference,
but when you look up after swallowing your last cup you will
see Miss Ringgan and Miss Evelyn, cloaked and hooded,
anxiously awaiting your next movement. My dear Fleda, there is
a ring!"
And giving her the benefit of a most comic and expressive
arching of her eyebrows, Constance flung back the screen into
Fleda's lap, and skimmed away.
Fleda was too vexed for a few minutes to understand more of
Mrs. Thorn's talk than that she was first enlarging upon the
concert, and afterwards detailing to her a long shopping
expedition in search of something which had been a morning's
annoyance. She almost thought Constance was unkind, because
she wanted to go to the concert herself, to lug her in so
unceremoniously, and wished herself back in her uncle's snug,
little, quiet parlour, unless M. Carleton would come.
And there he is, said a quick beat of her heart, as his
entrance explained Constance's "ring."
Such a rush of associations came over Fleda that she was in
imminent danger of losing Mrs. Thorn altogether. She managed,
however, by some sort of instinct, to disprove the assertion
that the mind cannot attend to two things at once, and carried
on a double conversation with herself and with Mrs. Thorn for
some time very vigorously.
"Just the same! he has not altered a jot," she said to
herself as he came forward to Mrs. Evelyn; "it is himself!
his very self he doesn't look a day older I'm very glad!
(Yes, Ma'am, it's extremely tiresome ). How exactly as when
he left me in Paris, and how much pleasanter than anybody
else! more pleasant than ever, it seems, to me, but that is
because I have not seen him in so long; he only wanted one
thing. That same grave eye but quieter, isn't it than it
used to be? I think so (It's the best store in town, I
think, Mrs. Thorn, by far yes, Ma'am ). Those eyes are
certainly the finest I ever saw. How I have seen him stand and
look just so when he was talking to his workmen without that
air of consciousness that all these people have, comparatively
what a difference! (I know very little about it, Ma'am; I
am not learned in laces I never bought any ). I wish he
would look this way I wonder if Mrs. Evelyn does not mean to
bring him to see me she must remember; now there is that
curious old smile and looking down! how much better I know
what it means than Mrs. Evelyn does! (Yes, Ma'am, I
understand I mean! it is very convenient I never go
anywhere else to get anything at least, I should not if I
lived here ). She does not know whom she is talking to. She
is going to walk him off into the other room! How very much
more gracefully he does everything than anybody else it
comes from that entire high-mindedness and frankness, I think
not altogether, a fine person must aid the effect, and that
complete independence of other people I wonder if Mrs.
Evelyn has forgotten my existence? he has not, I am sure I
think she is a little odd (Yes, Ma'am, my face is flushed
the room is very warm .)"
"But the fire has gone down it will be cooler now," said
Mrs. Thorn.
Which were the first words that fairly entered Fleda's
understanding. She was glad to use the screen to hide her face
now, not the fire.
Apparently the gentleman and lady found nothing to detain them
in the other room, for, after sauntering off to it, they
sauntered back again, and placed themselves to talk just
opposite her. Fleda had an additional screen now in the person
of Miss Tomlinson, who had sought her corner, and was earnest
talking across her to Mrs. Thorn, so that she was sure, even
if Mr. Carleton's eyes should chance to wander that way, they
would see nothing but the unremarkable skirt of her green silk
dress, most unlikely to detain them.
The trade in nothings going on over the said green silk was
very brisk indeed; but, disregarding the buzz of tongues near
at hand, Fleda's quick ears were able to free the barrier, and
catch every one of the quiet tones beyond.
"And you leave us the day after to-morrow?" said Mrs. Evelyn.
"No, Mrs. Evelyn, I shall wait another steamer."
The lady's brow instantly revealed to Fleda a trap setting
beneath to catch his reason.
"I'm very glad!" exclaimed little Edith, who, in defiance of
conventionalities and proprieties, made good her claim to be
in the drawing-room on all occasions "then you will take me
another ride, wont you, Mr. Carleton?"
"You do not flatter us with a very long stay," pursued Mrs.
Evelyn.
"Quite as long as I expected longer than I meant it to be,"
he answered, rather thoughtfully.
"Mr. Carleton," said Constance, sidling up in front of him. "I
have been in distress to ask you a question, and I am afraid
"
"Of what are you afraid, Miss Constance?"
"That you would reward me with one of your severe looks, which
would petrify me; and then, I am afraid I should feel
uncomfortable"
"I hope he will!" said Mrs. Evelyn, settling herself back in
the corner of the sofa, and with a look at her daughter which
was complacency itself "I hope Mr. Carleton will, if you are
guilty of any impertinence."
"What is the question, Miss Constance?"
"I want to know what brought you out here?"
"Fie, Constance," said her mother. "I am ashamed of you. Do
not answer her, Mr. Carleton."
"Mr. Carleton will answer me, Mamma he looks benevolently
upon my faults, which are entirely those of education. What
was it, Mr. Carleton?"
"I suppose," said he, smiling, "it might be traced more or
less remotely to the restlessness incident to human nature."
"But you are not restless, Mr. Carleton," said Florence, with
a glance which might be taken as complimentary.
"And knowing that I am," said Constance, in comic impatience,
"you are maliciously prolonging my agonies. It is not what I
expected of you, Mr. Carleton."
"My dear," said her father, "Mr. Carleton, I am sure, will
fulfil all reasonable expectations. What is the matter?"
"I asked him where a certain tribe of Indians was to be found,
Papa, and he told me they were supposed originally to have
come across Behring's Strait, one cold winter."
Mr. Evelyn looked a little doubtfully, and Constance with so
unhesitating gravity, that the gravity of nobody else was
worth talking about.
"But it is so uncommon," said Mrs. Evelyn, when they had done
laughing, "to see an Englishman of your class here at all,
that when he comes a second time we may be forgiven for
wondering what has procured us such an honour."
"Women may always be forgiven for wondering, my dear," said
Mr. Evelyn, "or the rest of mankind must live at odds with
them."
"Your principal object was to visit our western prairies,
wasn't it, Mr. Carleton?" said Florence.
"No," he replied, quietly, "I cannot say that. I should choose
to give a less romantic explanation of my movements. From,
some knowledge growing out of my former visit to this country,
I thought there were certain negotiations I might enter into
here with advantage; and it was for the purpose of attending
to these, Miss Constance, that I came."
"And have you succeeded?" said Mrs. Evelyn, with an expression
of benevolent interest.
"No, Ma'am my information had not been sufficient."
"Very likely," said Mr. Evelyn. "There isn't one man in a
hundred whose representations on such a matter are to be
trusted at a distance."
"On such a matter," repeated his wife, funnily; "you don't
know what the matter was, Mr. Evelyn you don't know what you
are talking about."
"Business, my dear business I take only what Mr. Carleton
said; it doesn't signify a straw what business. A man must
always see with his own eyes."
Whether Mr. Carleton had seen or had not seen, or whether even
he had his faculty of hearing in present exercise, a glance at
his face was incompetent to discover.
"I never should have imagined," said Constance, eyeing him
keenly, "that Mr. Carleton's errand to this country was one of
business, and not of romance. I believe it's a humbug!"
For an instant this was answered by one of those looks of
absolute composure, in every muscle and feature, which put an
effectual bar to all further attempts from without, or
revelations from within a look Fleda remembered well, and
felt even in her corner. But it presently relaxed, and he said
with his usual manner,
"You cannot understand, then, Miss Constance, that there
should be any romance about business?"
"I cannot understand," said Mrs. Evelyn, "why romance should
not come after business. Mr. Carleton, Sir, you have seen
American scenery this summer; isn't American beauty worth
staying a little while longer for?"
"My dear," said Mr. Evelyn, "Mr. Carleton is too much of a
philosopher to care about beauty every man of sense is."
"I am sure he is not," said Mrs. Evelyn, smoothly. "Mr.
Carleton, you are an admirer of beauty, are you not, Sir ?"
"I hope so, Mrs. Evelyn," he said smiling; "but perhaps, I
shall shock you by adding not of beauties."
"That sounds very odd," said Florence.
"But let us understand," said Mrs. Evelyn, with the air of a
person solving a problem; "I suppose we are to infer that your
taste in beauty is of a peculiar kind?"
"That may be a fair inference," he said.
"What is it, then?" said Constance, eagerly.
"Yes what is it you look for in a face?" said Mrs. Evelyn.
"Let us hear whether America has any chance," said Mr. Thorn,
who had joined the group, and placed himself precisely so as
to hinder Fleda's view.
"My fancy has no stamp of nationality, in this, at least," he
said, pleasantly.
"Now, for instance, the Miss Delancys don't you call them
handsome, Mr. Carleton?" said Florence.
"Yes," he said, half smiling.
"But not beautiful? Now, what is it they want?"
"I do not wish, if I could, to make the want visible to other
eyes than my own."
"Well, Cornelia Schenck how do you like her face?"
"It is very pretty-featured."
"Pretty-featured! Why, she is called beautiful! She has a
beautiful smile, Mr. Carleton!"
"She has only one."
"Only one! and how many smiles ought the same person to have?"
cried Florence, impatiently. But that which instantly answered
her said forcibly, that a plurality of them was possible.
"I have seen one face," he said, gravely, and his eye seeking
the floor, "that had, I think, a thousand."
"Different smiles!" said Mrs. Evelyn, in a constrained voice.
"If they were not all absolutely that, they had so much of
freshness and variety that they all seemed new."
"Was the mouth so beautiful?" said Florence.
"Perhaps it would not have been remarked for beauty when it
was perfectly at rest, but it could not move with the least
play of feeling, grave or gay, that it did not become so in a
very high degree. I think there was no touch or shade of
sentiment in the mind that the lips did not give with singular
nicety; and the mind was one of the most finely wrought I have
ever known."
"And what other features went with this mouth?" said Florence.
"The usual complement, I suppose," said Thorn. " '_Item_, two
lips indifferent red; _item_, two gray eyes, with lids to them;
_item_, one neck, one chin, and so forth."
"Mr. Carleton, Sir," said Mrs. Evelyn, blandly," as Mr. Evelyn
says, women may be forgiven for wondering, wont you answer
Florence's question?"
"Mr. Thorn has done it, Mrs. Evelyn, for me."
"But I have great doubts of the correctness of Mr. Thorn's
description, Sir; wont you indulge us with yours?"
"Word-painting is a difficult matter, Mrs. Evelyn, in some
instances; if I must do it, I will borrow my colours. In
general, 'that which made her fairness much the fairer was,
that it was but an ambassador of a most fair mind.' "
"A most exquisite picture!" said Thorn; "and the originals
don't stand so thick that one is in any danger of mistaking
them. Is the painter Shakespeare? I don't recollect."
"I think Sidney, Sir; I am not sure."
"But still, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, "this is only in
general I want very much to know the particulars; what style
of features belonged to this face?"
"The fairest, I think, I have ever known," said Mr. Carleton.
"You asked me, Miss Evelyn, what was my notion of beauty; this
face was a good illustration of it. Not perfection of outline,
though it had that, too, in very uncommon degree; but the
loveliness of mind and character to which these features were
only an index; the thoughts were invariably telegraphed
through eye and mouth more faithfully than words could give
them."
"What kind of eyes?" said Florence.
His own grew dark as he answered
"Clear and pure as one might imagine an angel's through
which I am sure my good angel many a time looked at me."
Good angels were at a premium among the eyes that were
exchanging glances just then.
"And Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, "is it fair to ask
this paragon is she living, still?"
"I hope so," he answered, with his old light smile, dismissing
the subject.
"You spoke so much in the past tense," said Mrs. Evelyn,
apologetically.
"Yes; I have not seen it since it was a child's."
"A child's face! Oh," said Florence, "I think you see a great
many children's faces with that kind of look."
"I never saw but the one," said Mr. Carleton, drily.
So far Fleda listened, with cheeks that would certainly have
excited Mrs. Thorn's alarm, if she had not been happily
engrossed with Miss Tomlinson's affairs; though up to the last
two minutes the idea of herself had not entered Fleda's head
in connection with the subject of conversation. But then,
feeling it impossible to make her appearance in public that
evening, she quietly slipped out of the open window close by,
which led into a little greenhouse on the piazza, and by
another door gained the hall and the dressing-room.
When Dr. Gregory came to Mrs. Evelyn's an hour or two after, a
figure all cloaked and hooded ran down the stairs and met him
in the hall.
"Ready!" said the doctor, in surprise.
"I have been ready some time, Sir," said Fleda.
"Well," said he, "then we'll go straight home, for I've not
done my work yet."
"Dear uncle Orrin," said Fleda, "if I had known you had work
to do, I wouldn't have come."
"Yes, you would," said he, decidedly.
She clasped her uncle's arm, and walked with him briskly home
through the frosty air, looking at the silent lights and
shadows on the walls of the street, and feeling a great desire
to cry.
"Did you have a pleasant evening?" said the doctor, when they
were about half way.
"Not particularly, Sir," said Fleda, hesitating.
He said not another word till they got home, and Fleda went up
to her room. But the habit of patience overcame the wish to
cry; and though the outside of her little gold-clasped bible
awoke it again, a few words of the inside were enough to lay
it quietly to sleep.
"Well," said the doctor, as they sat at breakfast the next
morning, "where are you going next?"
"To the concert, I must, to-night," said Fleda. "I couldn't
help myself."
"Why should you want to help yourself?" said the doctor. "And
to Mrs. Thorn's to-morrow night?"
"No, Sir; I believe not."
"I believe you will," said he, looking at her.
"I am sure I should enjoy myself more at home, uncle Orrin.
There is very little rational pleasure to be had in these
assemblages."
"Rational pleasure!" said he. "Didn't you have any rational
pleasure last night?"
"I didn't hear a single word spoken, Sir, that was worth
listening to; at least, that was spoken to me; and the hollow
kind of rattle that one hears from every tongue, makes me more
tired than anything else, I believe. I am out of tune with it,
somehow."
"Out of tune!" said the old doctor, giving her a look made up
of humourous vexation and real sadness; "I wish I knew the
right tuning-key to take hold of you!"
"I become harmonious rapidly, uncle Orrin, when I am in this
pleasant little room alone with you."
"That wont do!" said he, shaking his head at the smile with
which this was said "there is too much tension upon the
strings. So that was the reason you were all ready waiting for
me last night? Well, you must tune up, my little piece of
discordance, and go with me to Mrs. Thorn's to-morrow night
I wont let you off."
"With you, Sir!" said Fleda.
"Yes," he said. "I'll go along and take care of you, lest you
get drawn into something else you don't like."
"But, dear uncle Orrin, there is another difficulty it is to
be a large party, and I have not a dress exactly fit."
"What have you got?" said he, with a comic kind of fierceness.
"I have silks, but they are none of them proper for this
occasion they are ever so little old-fashioned."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing, Sir," said Fleda; "for I don't want to go."
"You mend a pair of stockings to put on," said he, nodding at
her, "and I'll see to the rest."
"Apparently you place great importance in stockings," said
Fleda, laughing, "for you always mention them first. But,
please don't get anything for me, uncle Orrin please don't!
I have plenty for common occasions, and I don't care to go to
Mrs. Thorn's."
"I don't care either," said the doctor, working himself into
his great coat. "By the by, do you want to invoke the aid of
St. Crispin?"
He went off, and Fleda did not know whether to cry or to laugh
at the vigorous way in which he trod through the hall, and
slammed the front door after him. Her spirits just kept the
medium, and did neither. But they were in the same doubtful
mood still an hour after, when he came back with a paper
parcel he had brought home under his arm, and unrolled a fine
embroidered muslin; her eyes were very unsteady in carrying
their brief messages of thankfulness, as if they feared saying
too much. The doctor, however, was in the mood for doing, not
talking, by looks or otherwise. Mrs. Pritchard was called into
consultation, and with great pride and delight engaged to have
the dress and all things else in due order by the following
night; her eyes saying all manner of gratulatory things as
they went from the muslin to Fleda, and from Fleda to Dr.
Gregory.
The rest of the day was, not books, but needlefuls of thread;
and from the confusion of laces and draperies, Fleda was
almost glad to escape, and go to the concert but for one
item; that spoiled it.
They were in their seats early. Fleda managed successfully to
place the two Evelyns between her and Mr. Thorn, and then
prepared herself to wear out the evening with patience.
"My dear Fleda!" whispered Constance, after some time spent in
restless reconnoitring of everything "I don't see my English
rose anywhere!"
"Hush!" said Fleda, smiling. "That happened not to be an
English rose, Constance."
"What was it?"
"American, unfortunately; it was a Noisette; the variety, I
think, that they call 'Conque de Vénus.' "
"My dear little Fleda, you're too wise for anything!" said
Constance, with a rather significant arching of her eye-brows.
"You mustn't expect other people to be as rural in their
acquirements as yourself. I don't pretend to know any rose by
sight but the Queechy," she said, with a change of expression,
meant to cover the former one.
Fleda's face, however, did not call for any apology. It was
perfectly quiet.
"But what has become of him?" said Constance, with her comic
impatience. "My dear Fleda! if my eyes cannot rest upon that
development of elegance, the parterre is become a wilderness
to me!"
"Hush, Constance!" Fleda whispered earnestly "you are not
safe he may be near you."
"Safe!" ejaculated Constance; but a half backward hasty glance
of her eye brought home so strong an impression that the
person in question was seated a little behind her, that she
dared not venture another look, and became straightway
extremely well-behave.
He was there; and being presently convinced that he was in the
neighbourhood of his little friend of former days, he resolved
with his own excellent eyes to test the truth of the opinion
he had formed as to the natural and inevitable effect of
circumstances upon her character; whether it could by
possibility have retained its great delicacy and refinement,
under the rough handling and unkindly bearing of things
seemingly foreign to both. He had thought not.
Truffi did not sing, and the entertainment was of a very
secondary quality. This seemed to give no uneasiness to the
Miss Evelyns, for if they pouted, they laughed and talked in
the same breath, and that incessantly. It was nothing to Mr.
Carleton, for his mind was bent on something else. And with a
little surprise, he saw that it was nothing to the subject of
his thoughts, either because her own were elsewhere, too, or
because they were in league with a nice taste, that permitted
them to take no interest in what was going on. Even her eyes,
trained as they had been to recluse habits, were far less busy
than those of her companions; indeed, they were not busy at
all; for the greater part of the time, one hand was upon the
brow, shielding them from the glare of the gas-lights.
Ostensibly but the very quiet air of the face led him to
guess that the mind was glad of a shield too. It relaxed
sometimes. Constance, and Florence, and Mr. Thorn, and Mr.
Thorn's mother, were every now and then making demands upon
her, and they were met always with an intelligent well-bred
eye, and often with a smile of equal gentleness and character;
but her observer noticed that though the smile came readily,
it went as readily, and the lines of the face quickly settled
again into what seemed to be an habitual composure. There were
the same outlines, the same characters, he remembered very
well; yet there was a difference; not grief had changed them,
but life had. The brow had all its fine chiselling and high
purity of expression; but now there sat there a hopelessness,
or rather a want of hopefulness, that a child's face never
knows. The mouth was sweet and pliable as ever, but now often
patience and endurance did not quit their seat upon the lip
even when it smiled. The eye, with all its old clearness and
truthfulness, had a shade upon it that, nine years ago, only
fell at the bidding of sorrow; and in every line of the face
there was a quiet gravity that went to the heart of the person
who was studying it. Whatever causes had been at work, he was
very sure, had done no harm to the character; its old
simplicity had suffered no change, as every look and movement
proved; the very unstudied careless position of the fingers
over the eyes showed that the thoughts had nothing to do
there.
On one half of his doubt Mr. Carleton's mind was entirely made
up; but education? the training and storing of the mind how
had that fared? He would know!
Perhaps he would have made some attempt that very evening
towards satisfying himself; but noticing that, in coming out,
Thorn permitted the Evelyns to pass him, and attached himself
determinately to Fleda, he drew back, and resolved to make his
observations indirectly, and on more than one point, before he
should seem to make them at all.