"Carleton! Hum " said Mr. Ringgan; " that must be this young man's mother?'"
"Yes, aunt Lucy says she is here with her son, at least she says they were coming."
"A very gentlemanly young man, indeed," said Mr. Ringgan.
There was a grave silence. The old gentleman sat looking on the floor; Fleda sat looking into the fire with all her might.
"Well," said Mr. Ringgan after a little, "how would you like it, Fleda?"
"What, grandpa?"
"To go out to Paris to your aunt, with this Mrs. Carleton?"
"I shouldn't like it at all," said Fleda, smiling and letting her eyes go back to the fire. But looking, after the pause of a minute or two, again to her grandfather's face, she was struck with its expression of stern anxiety. She rose instantly, and coming to him, and laying one hand gently on his knee, said in tones that fell as light on the ear as the touch of a moonbeam on the water, "You do not want me to go, do you, grandpa?"
"No, dear!" said the old gentleman, letting his hand fall upon hers, "no, dear! that is the last thing I want!"
But Fleda's keen ear discerned not only the deep affection, but something of regret in the voice, which troubled her. She stood, anxious and fearing while her grandfather lifting his hand again and again, let it fall gently upon hers; and amid all the fondness of the action, Fleda somehow seemed to feel in it the same regret.