Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the middle of the morning before he came back again. He found Fleda alone in the breakfast-room, sewing; and for the first time noticed the look his mother had spoken of a look not of sadness, but rather of settled, patient gravity; the more painful to see, because it could only have been wrought by long-acting causes, and might be as slow to do away as it must have been to bring. Charlton's displeasure with the existing state of things had revived as his remorse died away, and that quiet face did not have a quieting effect upon him.
"What on earth is going on?" he began, rather abruptly, as soon as he entered the room. "What horrible cookery is on foot?"
"I venture to recommend that you do not inquire," said Fleda.
"It was set on foot in the kitchen, and it has walked in here.
If you open the window, it will walk out."
"But you will be cold?"
"Never mind in that case I will walk out too, into the kitchen."
"Into the thick of it! No I will try some other way of relief. This is unendurable!"
Fleda looked, but made no other remonstrance, and not heeding the look, Mr. Charlton walked out into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.
"Barby," said he, "you have got something cooking here that is very disagreeable in the other room."
"Is it?" said Barby. "I reckoned it would all fly up chimney.
I guess the draught ain't so strong as I thought it was."
"But I tell you it fills the house!"