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Queechy

<h1> Chapter XXXII. </h1> <blockquote> Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're allycholy; I pray you, why is it? </blockquote> <blockquote> Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. </blockquote> <blockquote> Two Gentlemen of Verona. </blockquote> 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 cosily 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 sousy 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 heart-ache." "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 eat 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?" "Yes," 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 won't waste the elegancies of my toilet upon your dull perceptions--come here and let me shew 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 won't, 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 gayety 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 shew 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 shewn 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 ecstacies, 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 Mr. 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 earnestly 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, won't 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 Straits 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 eying 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 grey 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, won't 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--won't 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 original don't stand so thick that one is in any danger of mistaking them. Is the painter Shakspeare?--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 dryly. 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 won't 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 won't 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 everybody and 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 Venus.'" "My dear little Fleda, you're too wise for anything!" said Constance with a rather significant arching of her eyebrows. "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-behaved. 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 shewed 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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