"I am going up the hill to get a sight of aunt Miriam," said
Fleda, bringing her eyes from the fire upon her aunt.
"Well, dear, do. You have been shut up long enough by the snow. Wrap yourself up well, and put on my snow-boots."
"No, indeed!" said Fleda. "I shall just draw on another pair of stockings over my shoes, within my India-rubbers I will take a pair of Hugh's woollen ones."
"What has become of your own?" said Hugh.
"My own what? Stockings?"
"Snow-boots."
"Worn out, Mr. Rossitur! I have run them to death, poor things! Is that a slight intimation that you are afraid of the same fate for your socks?"
"No," said Hugh, smiling in spite of himself, at her manner
"I will lend you anything I have got, Fleda."
His tone put Fleda in mind of the very doubtful pretensions of the socks in question to be comprehended under the term she was silent a minute.
"Will you go with me, Hugh?"