had been coming and going painfully all the evening.
She could not meet him without a strange mixture of
embarrassment and confusion with the gratitude she
wished to express, an embarrassment not at all lessened
by the air of happy confidence with which he came forward
to her. It carried an intimation that almost took
away the little strength she had. And if anything
could have made his presence more intolerable, it
was the feeling she could not get rid of that it was
the cause why Mr. Carleton did not come near her again;
though she prolonged her stay in the drawing-room
in the hope that he would. It proved to be for
Mr. Thorn’s benefit alone.
“Well you staid all the evening after all,”
said Constance as they were going up stairs.
“Yes—I wish I hadn’t,”
said Fleda. “I wonder when I shall be likely
to find a chance of getting back to Queechy.”
“You’re not fit yet, so you needn’t
trouble yourself about it,” said Constance.
“We’ll find you plenty of chances.”
Fleda could not think of Mr. Thorn without trembling.
His manner meant—so much more than it had
any right, or than she had counted upon. He seemed—she
pressed her hands upon her face to get rid of the
impression—he seemed to take for granted
precisely that which she had refused to admit; he
seemed to reckon as paid for that which she had declined
to set a price upon. Her uncle’s words and
manner came up in her memory. She could see nothing
best to do but to get home as fast as possible.
She had no one here to fall back upon. Again that
vision of father and mother and grandfather flitted
across her fancy; and though Fleda’s heart ended
by resting down on that foundation to which it always
recurred, it rested with a great many tears.
For several days she denied herself absolutely to
morning visitors of every kind. But she could
not entirely absent herself from the drawing-room
in the evening; and whenever the family were at home
there was a regular levee. Mr. Thorn could not
be avoided then. He was always there, and always
with that same look and manner of satisfied confidence.
Fleda was as grave, as silent, as reserved, as she
could possibly be and not be rude; but he seemed to
take it in excellent good part, as being half indisposition
and half timidity. Fleda set her face earnestly
towards home, and pressed Mrs. Evelyn to find her
an opportunity, weak or strong, of going there; but
for those days as yet none presented itself.
Mr. Carleton was at the house almost as often as Mr.
Thorn, seldom staying so long however, and never having
any more to do with Fleda than he had that first evening.
Whenever he did come in contact with her, he was, she
thought, as grave as he was graceful. That was
to be sure his common manner in company, yet she could
not help thinking there was some difference since
the walk they had taken together, and it grieved her.
