"He is wonderfully better than you," thought Fleda, as she looked in the young gentleman's face for a second, but she said nothing.
"Why, Fleda," said Charlton, laughing, "it wouldn't be a killing affair, would it? How has this English admirer of yours got so far in your fancy? praising your pretty eyes, eh? eh?" he repeated, as Fleda kept a dignified silence.
"No," said Fleda, in displeasure; "he never says such things."
"No?" said Charlton. "What then! What does he say? I wouldn't let him make a fool of me, if I were you. Fleda did he ever ask you for a kiss?"
"No!" exclaimed Fleda, half beside herself, and bursting into tears: " I wish you wouldn't talk so! How can you!"
They had carried the game pretty far that time, and thought best to leave it. Fleda stopped crying as soon as she could, lest somebody should see her; and was sitting quietly again, alone as before, when one of the sailors whom she had never spoken to, came by, and leaning over towards her with a leer as he passed, said
"Is this the young English gentleman's little sweet-heart?"
Poor Fleda! She had got more than she could bear. She jumped up, and ran down into the cabin; and in her berth Mrs. Carleton found her some time afterwards, quietly crying, and most sorry to be discovered. She was exceeding unwilling to tell what had troubled her. Mrs. Carleton, really distressed, tried coaxing, soothing, reasoning, promising, in a way the most gentle and kind that she could use.
"Oh, it's nothing it's nothing," Fleda said, at last, eagerly; "it's because I am foolish it's only something they said to me."
"Who, love?"