“We have had a genial day!” said the doctor,
quitting the Finns.
“I don’t know,” said Fleda, permitting
a little of her inward merriment to work off,—“I
think it has been rather too hot.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, “the sun
has been ardent; but I referred rather to the—a—to
the warming of affections, and the pleasant exchange
of intercourse on all sides which has taken place.
How do you like our—a—the stranger?”
“Who, sir?”
“The new-comer,—this young Mr. Ummin?”
Fleda answered, but she hardly knew what, for she
was musing whether the doctor would go away or come
in. They reached the door, and Fleda invited
him, with terrible effort after her voice; the doctor
having just blandly offered an opinion upon the decided
polish of Mr. Olmney’s manners!
Labour is light, where lore (quoth I)
doth pay;
(Saith he) light burthens heavy, if far
borne.
Drayton.
Fleda pushed open the parlour door and preceded her
convoy, in a kind of tip-toe state of spirits.
The first thing that met her eyes was her aunt in
one of the few handsome silks which were almost her
sole relic of past wardrobe prosperity, and with a
face uncommonly happy and pretty; and the next instant
she saw the explanation of this appearance in her cousin
Charlton, a little palish, but looking better than
she had ever seen him, and another gentleman of whom
her eye took in only the general outlines of fashion
and comfortable circumstances; now too strange to it
to go unnoted. In Fleda’s usual mood her
next movement would have been made with a demureness
that would have looked like bashfulness. But the
amusement and pleasure of the day just passed had
for the moment set her spirits free from the burden
that generally bound them down; and they were as elastic
as her step as she came forward and presented to her
aunt “Dr. Quackenboss,—and then turned
to shake her cousin’s hand.”
“Charlton!—Where did you come from?
We didn’t expect you so soon.”
“You are not sorry to see me, I hope?”
“Not at all—very glad;”—and
then as her eye glanced towards the other new-comer
Charlton presented to her “Mr. Thorn;”
and Fleda’s fancy made a sudden quick leap on
the instant to the old hall at Montepoole and the
shot dog. And then Dr. Quackenboss was presented,
an introduction which Capt. Rossitur received
coldly, and Mr. Thorn with something more than frigidity.
The doctor’s elasticity however defied depression,
especially in the presence of a silk dress and a military
coat. Fleda presently saw that he was agonizing
her uncle. Mrs. Rossitur had drawn close to her
son. Fleda was left to take care of the other
visitor. The young men had both seemed more struck
at the vision presented to them than she had been on
her part. She thought neither of them was very
ready to speak to her.
