"Have you observed a sitting hare,
List'ning, and, fearful of the storm
Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear,
Afraid to keep or leave her form?
PRIOR.
By the Evelyns' own desire, Fleda's going to them was delayed
for a week, because, they said, a furnace was to be brought
into the house, and they would be all topsy-turvy till that
fuss was over. Fleda kept herself very quiet in the meantime,
seeing almost nobody but the person whom it was her especial
object to shun. Do her best, she could not quite escape him,
and was even drawn into two or three walks and rides, in spite
of denying herself utterly to gentlemen at home, and losing,
in consequence, a visit from her old friend. She was glad at
last to go to the Evelyns, and see company again, hoping that
Mr. Thorn would be merged in a crowd.
But she could not merge him, and sometimes was almost inclined
to suspect that his constant prominence in the picture must be
owing to some mysterious and wilful conjuration going on in
the background. She was at a loss to conceive how else it
happened that, despite her utmost endeavours to the contrary,
she was so often thrown upon his care, and obliged to take up
with his company. It was very disagreeable. Mr. Carleton she
saw almost as constantly, but, though frequently near, she had
never much to do with him. There seemed to be a dividing
atmosphere always in the way, and whenever he did speak to
her, she felt miserably constrained, and unable to appear like
herself. Why was it? she asked herself, in a very vexed state
of mind. No doubt, partly from the remembrance of that
overheard conversation which she could not help applying, but
much more from an indefinable sense that at these times there
were always eyes upon her. She tried to charge the feeling
upon her consciousness of their having heard that same talk,
but it would not the more go off. And it had no chance to wear
off, for somehow, the occasions never lasted long something
was sure to break them up while an unfortunate combination
of circumstances, or of connivers, seemed to give Mr. Thorn
unlimited facilities in the same kind. Fleda was quick-witted
and skilful enough to work herself out of them once in a
while; more often the combination was too much for her
simplicity and straightforwardness.
She was a little disappointed and a little surprised at Mr.
Carleton's coolness. He was quite equal to withstand or out-
general the schemes of any set of manoeuvrers; therefore it
was plain he did not care for the society of his little friend
and companion of old time. Fleda felt it, especially as she
now and then heard him in delightful talk with somebody else,
making himself so interesting that, when Fleda could get a
chance to listen, she was quite ready to forgive his not
talking to her for the pleasure of hearing him talk at all.
But at other times she said, sorrowfully to herself, "He will
be going home presently, and I shall not have seen him."
One day she had successfully defended herself against taking a
drive which Mr. Thorn came to propose, though the proposition
had been laughingly backed by Mrs. Evelyn. Raillery was much
harder to withstand than persuasion, but Fleda's quiet
resolution had proved a match for both. The better to cover
her ground, she declined to go out at all, and remained at
home, the only one of the family, that fine day.
In the afternoon Mr. Carleton was there. Fleda sat a little
apart from the rest, industriously bending over a complicated
piece of embroidery belonging to Constance, and in which that
young lady had made a great blunder, which she declared her
patience unequal to the task of rectifying. The conversation
went gaily forward among the others, Fleda taking no part in
it beyond an involuntary one. Mr. Carleton's part was rather
reserved and grave, according to his manner in ordinary
society.
"What do you keep bothering yourself with that for?" said
Edith, coming to Fleda's side.
"One must be doing something, you know," said Fleda, lightly.
"No, you mustn't not when you're tired and I know you are.
I'd let Constance pick out her own work."
"I promised her I would do it," said Fleda.
"Well, you didn't promise her when. Come! everybody's been
out but you, and you have sat here over this the whole day.
Why don't you come over there and talk with the rest? I know
you want to, for I've watched your mouth going."
"Going! how!"
"Going off at the corners. I've seen it! Come."
But Fleda said she could listen and work at once, and would
not budge. Edith stood looking at her a little while in a kind
of admiring sympathy, and then went back to the group.
"Mr. Carleton," said the young lady, who was treading with
laudable success in the steps of her sister Constance "what
has become of that ride you promised to give me?"
"I do not know, Miss Edith," said Mr. Carleton, smiling, "for
my conscience never had the keeping of it."
"Hush, Edith!" said her mother; "do you think Mr. Carleton has
nothing to do but to take you riding?"
"I don't believe he has much to do," said Edith, securely.
"But, Mr. Carleton, you did promise, for I asked you, and you
said nothing; and I always have been told that silence gives
consent; so what is to become of it?"
"Will you go now, Miss Edith?"
"Now? O, yes! And will you go out to Manhattanville, Mr.
Carleton along by the river?"
"If you like. But, Miss Edith, the carriage will hold another
cannot you persuade one of these ladies to go with us?"
"Fleda!" said Edith, springing off to her with extravagant
capers of joy "Fleda, you shall go! you haven't been out to-
day."
"And I cannot go out to-day," said Fleda, gently.
"The air is very fine," said Mr. Carleton, approaching her
table, with no want of alacrity in step or tone, her ears
knew; "and this weather makes everything beautiful. Has that
piece of canvas any claims upon you that cannot be put aside
for a little?"
"No, Sir," said Fleda, "but, I am sorry I have a stronger
reason that must keep me at home."
"She knows how the weather looks," said Edith; "Mr. Thorn
takes her out every other day. It's no use to talk to her, Mr.
Carleton when she says she wont, she wont."
"Every other day!" said Fleda.
"No, no," said Mrs. Evelyn, coming up, and with that smile
which Fleda had never liked so little as at that minute "not
_every other_ day, Edith; what are you talking of? Go, and don't
keep Mr. Carleton waiting."
Fleda worked on, feeling a little aggrieved. Mr. Carleton
stood still by her table, watching her, while his companions
were getting themselves ready; but he said no more, and Fleda
did not raise her head till the party were off. Florence had
taken her resigned place.
"I dare say the weather will be quite as fine to-morrow, dear
Fleda," said Mrs. Evelyn, softly.
"I hope it will," said Fleda, in a tone of resolute
simplicity.
"I only hope it will not bring too great a throng of carriages
to the door," Mrs. Evelyn went on, in a tone of great internal
amusement; "I never used to mind it, but I have lately a
nervous fear of collisions."
"To-morrow is not your reception-day?" said Fleda.
"No, not mine," said Mrs. Evelyn, softly "but that doesn't
signify it may be one of my neighbours."
Fleda pulled away at her threads of worsted, and wouldn't know
anything else.
"I have read of the servants of Lot and the servants of
Abraham quarrelling," Mrs. Evelyn went on, in the same
undertone of delight "because the land was too strait for
them I should be very sorry to have anything of the sort
happen again, for I cannot imagine where Lot would go to find
a plain that would suit him."
"Lot and Abraham, Mamma," said Constance, from the sofa
"what on earth are you talking about?"
"None of your business," said Mrs. Evelyn; "I was talking of
some country friends of mine that you don't know."
Constance knew her mother's laugh very well, but Mrs. Evelyn
was impenetrable.
The next day Fleda ran away, and spent a good part of the
morning with her uncle in the library, looking over new books,
among which she found herself quite a stranger, so many had
made their appearance since the time when she had much to do
with libraries or book stores. Living friends, male and
female, were happily forgotten in the delighted acquaintance-
making with those quiet companions, which, whatever their
deficiencies in other respects, are at least never importunate
nor variable. Fleda had come home rather late, and was
dressing for dinner, with Constance's company and help, when
Mrs. Evelyn came into her room.
"My dear Fleda," said the lady, her face and voice as full as
possible of fun, "Mr. Carleton wants to know if you will ride
with him this afternoon. I told him I believed you were, in
general, shy of gentlemen that drove their own horses; that I
thought I had noticed you were; but I would come up and see."
"Mrs. Evelyn! you did not tell him that?"
"He said he was sorry to see you looked pale yesterday when he
was asking you; and he was afraid that embroidery is not good
for you. He thinks you are a very charming girl "
And Mrs. Evelyn went off into little fits of laughter, which
unstrung all Fleda's nerves. She stood absolutely trembling.
"Mamma, don't plague her!" said Constance. "He didn't say so."
"He did! upon my word!" said Mrs. Evelyn, speaking with
great difficulty "he said she was very charming, and it
might be dangerous to see too much of her."
"You made him say that, Mrs. Evelyn," said Fleda,
reproachfully.
"Well, I did ask him if you were not very charming, but he
answered without hesitation," said the lady "I am only so
afraid that Lot will make his appearance "
Fleda turned round to the glass, and went on arranging her
hair, with a quivering lip.
"Lot! Mamma," said Constance, somewhat indignantly.
"Yes," said Mrs. Evelyn, in ecstasies; "because the land will
not bear both of them. But Mr. Carleton is very much in
earnest for his answer, Fleda, my dear what shall I tell it
him? You need be under no apprehensions about going he will
perhaps tell you that you are charming, but I don't I think he
will say anything more. You know, he is a kind of patriarch;
and when I asked him if he didn't think it might be dangerous
to see too much of you, he said he thought it might to some
people, so, you see, you are safe."
"Mrs. Evelyn, how could you use my name so?" said Fleda, with
a voice that carried a good deal of reproach.
"My dear Fleda, shall I tell him you will go? You need not be
afraid to go riding, only you must not let yourself be seen
walking with him."
"I shall not go, Ma'am," said Fleda, quietly.
"I wanted to send Edith with you, thinking it would be
pleasanter; but I knew Mr. Carleton's carriage would hold but
two to-day. So what shall I tell him?"
"I am not going, Ma'am," repeated Fleda.
"But what shall I tell him? I must give him some reason. Shall
I say that you think a sea-breeze is blowing, and you don't
like it? or shall I say that prospects are a matter of
indifference to you?"
Fleda was quite silent, and went on dressing herself with
trembling fingers.
"My dear Fleda," said the lady, bringing her face a little
into order, "wont you go? I am very sorry "
"So am I sorry," said Fleda. "I can't go, Mrs. Evelyn."
"I will tell Mr. Carleton you are very sorry," said Mrs.
Evelyn, every line of her face drawing again "that will
console him; and let him hope that you will not mind sea-
breezes by and by, after you have been a little longer in the
neighbourhood of them. I will tell him you are a good
republican, and have an objection, at present, to an English
equipage, but I have no doubt that is a prejudice which will
wear off."
She stopped to laugh, while Fleda had the greatest difficulty
not to cry. The lady did not seem to see her disturbed brow;
but recovering herself after a little, though not readily, she
bent forward and touched her lips to it in kind fashion. Fleda
did not look up, and saying again, "I will tell him, dear
Fleda," Mrs. Evelyn left the room.
Constance, after a little laughing and condoling, neither of
which Fleda attempted to answer, ran off, too, to dress
herself; and Fleda, after finishing her own toilette, locked
her door, sat down, and cried heartily. She thought Mrs.
Evelyn had been, perhaps unconsciously, very unkind; and to
say that unkindness has not been meant, is but to shift the
charge from one to another vital point in the character of a
friend, and one, perhaps, sometimes not less grave. A moment's
passionate wrong may consist with the endurance of a
friendship worth having, better than the thoughtlessness of
obtuse wits that can never know how to be kind. Fleda's whole
frame was still in a tremor from disagreeable excitement, and
she had serious causes of sorrow to cry for. She was sorry she
had lost what would have been a great pleasure in the ride
and her great pleasures were not often but nothing would
have been more impossible than for her to go after what Mrs.
Evelyn had said. She was sorry Mr. Carleton should have asked
her twice in vain what must he think? she was exceeding
sorry that a thought should have been put into her head that
never before had visited the most distant dreams of her
imagination, so needlessly, so gratuitously she was very
sorry, for she could not be free of it again, and she felt it
would make her miserably hampered and constrained, in mind and
manner both, in any future intercourse with the person in
question. And then again, what would he think of that? Poor
Fleda came to the conclusion that her best place was at home,
and made up her mind to take the first good opportunity of
getting there.
She went down to dinner with no traces of either tears or
unkindness on her sweet face, but her nerves were quivering
all the afternoon she could not tell whether Mrs. Evelyn and
her daughters found it out; and it was impossible for her to
get back even her old degree of freedom of manner before
either Mr. Carleton or Mr. Thorn, all the more, because Mrs.
Evelyn was every now and then bringing out some sly allusion,
which afforded herself intense delight, and wrought Fleda to
the last degree of quietness. Unkind Fleda thought now it
was but half from ignorance of the mischief she was doing, and
the other half from the mere desire of selfish gratification.
The times and ways in which Lot and Abraham were walked into
the conversation were incalculable, and unintelligible, except
to the person who understood it only too well. On one
occasion, Mrs. Evelyn went on with a long rigmarole to Mr.
Thorn about sea-breezes, with a face of most exquisite delight
at his mystification and her own hidden fun, till Fleda was
absolutely trembling. Fleda shunned both the gentlemen, at
length, with a kind of nervous horror.
One steamer had left New York, and another, and still Mr.
Carleton did not leave it. Why he staid, Constance was as much
in a puzzle as ever, for no mortal could guess. Clearly, she
said, he did not delight in New York society, for he honoured
it as slightly and partially as might be; and it was equally
clear, if he had a particular reason for staying, he didn't
mean anybody should know it.
"If he don't mean it, you wont find it out, Constance," said
Fleda.
"But it is that very consideration, you see, which inflames my
impatience to a most dreadful degree. I think our house is
distinguished with his regards, though I am sure I can't
imagine why, for he never condescends to anything beyond
general benevolence when he is here, and not always to that.
He has no taste for embroidery, or Miss Ringgan's crewels
would receive more of his notice he listens to my spirited
conversation with a self-possession which invariably deprives
me of mine! and his ear is evidently dull to musical
sensibilities, or Florence's harp would have greater charms. I
hope there is a web weaving somewhere that will catch him at
present he stands in an attitude of provoking independence of
all the rest of the world. It is curious," said Constance,
with an indescribable face "I feel that the independence of
another is rapidly making a slave of me!"
"What do you mean, Constance?' said Edith, indignantly. But
the others could do nothing but laugh.
Fleda did not wonder that Mr. Carleton made no more efforts to
get her to ride, for the very next day after his last failure
he had met her driving with Mr. Thorn. Fleda had been asked by
Mr. Thorn's mother, in such a way as made it impossible to get
off; but it caused her to set a fresh seal of unkindness to
Mrs. Evelyn's behaviour.
One evening, when there was no other company at Mrs. Evelyn's
Mr. Stackpole was entertaining himself with a long
dissertation upon the affairs of America, past, present, and
future. It was a favourite subject; Mr. Stackpole always
seemed to have more complacent enjoyment of his easy chair
when he could succeed in making every American in the room sit
uncomfortably. And this time, without any one to thwart him,
he went on to his heart's content disposing of the subject as
one would strip a rose of its petals, with as much seeming
_nonchalance_ and ease, and with precisely the same design, to
make a rose no rose. Leaf after leaf fell under Mr.
Stackpole's touch, as if it had been a black frost. The
American government was a rickety experiment go to pieces
presently; American institutions an alternative between
fallacy and absurdity, the fruit of raw minds and precocious
theories; American liberty a contradiction; American character
a compound of quackery and pretension; American society
(except at Mrs. Evelyn's) an anomaly; American destiny the
same with that of a cactus, or a volcano a period of rest
followed by a period of excitement; not, however, like the
former, making successive shoots towards perfection, but, like
the latter, grounding every new face of things upon the
demolition of that which went before. Smoothly and pleasantly
Mr. Stackpole went on compounding this cup of entertainment
for himself and his hearers, smacking his lips over it, and
all the more, Fleda thought, when they made wry faces;
throwing in a little truth, a good deal of fallacy, a great
deal of perversion and misrepresentation; while Mrs. Evelyn
listened and smiled, and half parried and half assented to his
positions; and Fleda sat impatiently drumming upon her elbow
with the fingers of her other hand, in the sheer necessity of
giving some expression to her feelings. Mr. Stackpole at last
got his finger upon the sore spot of American slavery, and
pressed it hard.
"This is the land of the stars and the stripes!" said the
gentleman, in a little fit of virtuous indignation; "this is
the land where all are brothers! where 'All men are born free
and equal!' "
"Mr. Stackpole," said Fleda, in a tone that called his
attention; "are you well acquainted with the popular proverbs
of your country?"
"Not particularly," he said. He had never made it a branch of
study.
"I am a great admirer of them."
He bowed, and begged to be excused for remarking that he
didn't see the point yet.
"Do you remember this one, Sir," said Fleda, colouring a
little; " 'Those that live in glass houses shouldn't throw
stones?' "
"I have heard it; but, pardon me, though your remark seems to
imply the contrary, I am in the dark yet. What unfortunate
points of vitrification have I laid open to your fire?"
"I thought they were probably forgotten by you, Sir."
"I shall be exceedingly obliged to you if you will put me in
condition to defend myself."
"I think nothing could do that, Mr. Stackpole. Under whose
auspices and fostering care was this curse of slavery laid
upon America?"
"Why, of course but you will observe, Miss Ringgan, that at
that day the world was unenlightened on a great many points;
since then, we have cast off the wrong which we then shared
with the rest of mankind."
"Ay, Sir, but not until we had first repudiated it, and
Englishmen had desired to force it back upon us at the point
of the sword. Four times "
"But, my dear Fleda," interrupted Mrs. Evelyn, "the English
nation have no slaves, nor slave-trade; they have put an end
to slavery entirely, everywhere under their flag."
"They were very slow about it," said Fleda. "Four times the
government of Massachusetts abolished the slave-trade under
their control, and four times the English government thrust it
back upon them. Do you remember what Burke says about that, in
his speech on Conciliation with America?"
"It don't signify what Burke says about it," said Mr.
Stackpole, rubbing his chin "Burke is not the first
authority; but, Miss Ringgan, it is undeniable that slavery,
and the slave-trade too, does at this moment exist in the
interior of your own country."
"I will never excuse what is wrong, Sir; but I think it
becomes an Englishman to be very moderate in putting forth
that charge."
"Why?" said he, hastily: "we have done away with it entirely
in our own dominions wiped that stain clean off. Not a slave
can touch British ground but he breathes free air from that
minute."
"Yes, Sir; but candour will allow that we are not in a
condition in this country to decide the question by a _tour de
force_."
"What is to decide it, then!" said he, a little arrogantly.
"The progress of truth in public opinion."
"And why not the government, as well as our government!"
"It has not the power, you know, Sir."
"Not the power! well, that speaks for itself."
"Nothing against us, on a fair construction," said Fleda,
patiently. "It is well known, to those who understand the
subject"
"Where did you learn so much about it, Fleda?" said Mrs.
Evelyn, humourously.
"As the birds pick up their supplies, Ma'am here and there.
It is well known, Mr. Stackpole, that our constitution never
could have been agreed upon, if that question of slavery had
not been, by common consent, left where it was with the
separate state governments."
"The separate state governments! well, why do not _they_ put
an end to it? The disgrace is only shifted."
"Of course, they must first have the consent of the public
mind of those states."
"Ah! their consent! and why is their consent wanting?"
"We cannot defend ourselves there," said Mrs. Evelyn. "I wish
we could."
"The disgrace, at least, is shifted from the whole to a part.
But will you permit me," said Fleda, "to give another
quotation from my despised authority, and remind you of an
Englishman's testimony, that beyond a doubt that point of
emancipation would never have been carried in parliament had
the interests of even a part of the electors been concerned in
it!"
"It was done, however, and done at the expense of twenty
millions of money."
"And I am sure that was very noble," said Florence.
"It was what no nation but the English would ever have done,"
said Mrs. Evelyn.
"I do not wish to dispute it," said Fleda; "but still it was
doing what did not touch the sensitive point of their own
well-being."
"_We_ think there is a little national honour concerned in it,"
said Mr. Stackpole, drily, stroking his chin again.
"So does every right-minded person," said Mrs. Evelyn. "I am
sure I do."
"And I am sure so do I," said Fleda; "but I think the honour
of a piece of generosity is considerably lessened by the fact
that it is done at the expense of another."
"Generosity!" said Mr. Stackpole; "it was not generosity, it
was justice there was no generosity about it."
"Then it deserves no honour at all," said Fleda, "if it was
merely that; the tardy execution of justice is but the removal
of a reproach."
"We Englishmen are of opinion, however," said Mr. Stackpole,
contentedly, "that the removers of a reproach are entitled to
some honour, which those who persist in retaining it cannot
claim."
"Yes," said Fleda, drawing rather a long breath, "I
acknowledge that; but I think that, while some of these same
Englishmen have shown themselves so unwilling to have the
condition of their own factory slaves ameliorated, they should
be very gentle in speaking of wrongs which we have far less
ability to rectify."
"Ah! I like consistency," said Mr. Stackpole. "America
shouldn't dress up poles with liberty caps, till all who walk
under are free to wear them. She cannot boast that the breath
of her air and the breath of freedom are one."
"Can England?" said Fleda, gently "when her own citizens are
not free from the horrors of impressment?"
"Pshaw!" said Mr. Stackpole, half in a pet and half laughing;
"why where did you get such a fury against England? you are
the first _fair_ antagonist I have met on this side of the
water."
"I wish I was a better one, Sir," said Fleda, laughing.
"Miss Ringgan has been prejudiced by an acquaintance with one
or two unfortunate specimens," said Mrs. Evelyn.
"Ay!" said Mr. Stackpole, a little bitterly; "America is the
natural birthplace of prejudice always was."
"Displayed, first, in maintaining the rights against the
swords of Englishmen; latterly, how, Mr. Stackpole?"
"It isn't necessary to enlighten _you_ on any part of the
subject," said he, a little pointedly.
"Fleda, my dear, you are answered," said Mrs. Evelyn,
apparently with great internal amusement.
"Yet you will indulge me so far as to indicate what part of
the subject you are upon?" said Fleda, quietly.
"You must grant so much as that to so gentle a requisition,
Mr. Stackpole," said the older lady.
"I venture to assume that you do not say that on your own
account, Mrs. Evelyn?"
"Not at all I agree with you, that Americans are prejudiced;
but I think it will pass off, Mr. Stackpole, as they learn to
know themselves and other countries better."
"But how do they deserve such a charge and such a defence? or
how have they deserved it?" said Fleda.
"Tell her, Mr. Stackpole," said Mrs. Evelyn.
"Why," said Mr. Stackpole, "in their absurd opposition to all
the old and tried forms of things, and rancorous dislike of
those who uphold them; and in their pertinacity on every point
where they might be set right, and impatience of hearing the
truth."
"Are they singular in that last item?" said Fleda.
"Now," said Mr. Stackpole, not heeding her, "there's your
treatment of the aborigines of this country what do call
that, for a _free_ people?"
"A powder magazine, communicating with a great one of your own
somewhere else; so, if you are a good subject, Sir, you will
not carry a lighted candle into it."
"One of our own where?" said he.
"In India," said Fleda with a glance "and there are I don't
know how many trains leading to it so, better hands off,
Sir."
"Where did you pick up such a spite against us?" said Mr.
Stackpole, drawing a little back and eyeing her as one would a
belligerent mouse or cricket. "Will you tell me now that
Americans are not prejudiced?"
"What do you call prejudice?" said Fleda, smiling.
"Oh, there is a great deal of it, no doubt, here, Mr.
Stackpole," said Mrs. Evelyn, blandly; "but we shall grow out
of it in time; it is only the premature wisdom of a young
people."
"And young people never like to hear their wisdom rebuked,"
said. Mr. Stackpole, bowing.
"Fleda, my dear, what for is that little significant shake of
your head?" said Mrs. Evelyn, in her amused voice.
"A trifle, Ma'am."
"Covers a hidden rebuke, Mrs. Evelyn, I have no doubt, for
both our last remarks. What is it, Miss Fleda? I dare say we
can bear it."
"I was thinking, Sir, that none would trouble themselves much
about our foolscap if we had not once made them wear it."
"Mr. Stackpole, you are worsted! I only wish Mr. Carleton
had been here!" said Mrs. Evelyn, with a face of excessive
delight.
"I wish he had," said Fleda, "for then I need not have spoken
a word."
"Why," said Mr. Stackpole, a little irritated, "you suppose he
would have fought for you against me?"
"I suppose he would have fought for truth against anybody,
Sir," said Fleda.
"Even against his own interests?"
"If I am not mistaken in him," said Fleda, "he reckons his own
and those of truth identical."
The shout that was raised at this by all the ladies of the
family made her look up in wonderment.
"Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, "what do you say to that,
Sir?"
The direction of the lady's eye made Fleda spring up and face
about. The gentleman in question was standing quietly at the
back of her chair too quietly, she saw, to leave any doubt
of his having been there some time. Mr. Stackpole uttered an
ejaculation, but Fleda stood absolutely motionless, and
nothing could be prettier than her colour.
"What do you say to what you have heard, Mr. Carleton?" said
Mrs. Evelyn.
Fleda's eyes were on the floor, but she thoroughly appreciated
the tone of the question.
"I hardly know whether I have listened with most pleasure or
pain, Mrs. Evelyn."
"Pleasure!" said Constance.
"Pain!" said Mr. Stackpole.
"I am certain Miss Ringgan was pure from any intention of
giving pain," said Mrs. Evelyn, with her voice of contained
fun. "She has no national antipathies, I am sure unless in
the case of the Jews she is too charming a girl for that."
"Miss Ringgan cannot regret less than I a word that she has
spoken," said Mr. Carleton, looking keenly at her as she drew
back and took a seat a little off from the rest.
"Then why was the pain?" said Mr. Stackpole.
"That there should have been any occasion for them, Sir."
"Well, I wasn't sensible of the occasion, so I didn't feel the
pain," said Mr. Stackpole, drily for the other gentleman's
tone was almost haughtily significant. "But if I had, the
pleasure of such sparkling eyes would have made me forget it.
Good evening, Mrs. Evelyn good evening, my gentle antagonist
it seems to me you have learned, if it is permissible to
alter one of your favourite proverbs, that it is possible to
_break two windows_ with one stone. However, I don't feel that I
go away with any of mine shattered."
"Fleda, my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn, laughing, "what do you say
to that?"
"As he is not here, I will say nothing to it, Mrs. Evelyn,"
said Fleda, quietly drawing off to the table with her work,
and again in a tremor from head to foot.
"Why, didn't you see Mr. Carleton come in?" said Edith,
following her; "I did he came in long before you had done
talking, and mamma held up her finger and made him stop; and
he stood at the back of your chair the whole time listening.
Mr. Stackpole didn't know he was there either. But what's the
matter with you?"
"Nothing," said Fleda; but she made her escape out of the room
the next instant.
"Mamma," said Edith, "what ails Fleda?"
"I don't know, my love," said Mrs. Evelyn. "Nothing, I hope."
"There does, though," said Edith, decidedly.
"Come here, Edith," said Constance, "and don't meddle with
matters above your comprehension. Miss Ringgan has probably
hurt her hand with throwing stones."
"Hurt her hand!" said Edith. But she was taken possession of
by her eldest sister.
"That is a lovely girl, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, with
an indescribable look outwardly benign, but beneath that
most keen in its scrutiny.
He bowed rather abstractedly.
"She will make a charming little farmer's wife don't you
think so?"
"Is that her lot, Mrs. Evelyn?" he said, with a somewhat
incredulous smile.
"Why, no not precisely," said the lady; "you know, in the
country, or you do not know, the ministers are half farmers,
but I suppose not more than half; just such a mixture as will
suit Fleda, I should think. She has not told me in so many
words, but it is easy to read so ingenuous a nature as hers,
and I have discovered that there is a most deserving young
friend of mine settled at Queechy that she is by no means
indifferent to. I take it for granted that will be the end of
it," said Mrs. Evelyn, pinching her sofa cushion in a great
many successive places, with a most composed and satisfied
air.
But Mr. Carleton did not seem at all interested in the
subject, and presently introduced another.