"Go on, and let me know why," he said, with that happiness of manner which was never resisted. Fleda went on, reassuring her courage now and then with a glance.
"The relief might spring, Sir, from the gratification of a proud feeling of independence or from a dignified sense of isolation or an imaginary riding down of opposition or the consciousness of being master of what you have in hand."
She would have added to the general category, "the running away from one's-self;" but the eye and bearing of the person before her forbade even such a thought as connected with him. He laughed, but shook his head.
"Perhaps, then," said Fleda, "it may be nothing worse than the working off of a surplus of energy or impatience that leaves behind no more than can be managed."
"You have learned something of human nature since I had the pleasure of knowing you," he said, with a look at once amused and penetrating.
"I wish I hadn't," said Fleda.
Her countenance absolutely fell.
"I sometimes think," said he, turning over the leaves of her book, "that these are the best companionship one can have the world at large is very unsatisfactory."
"O, how much!" said Fleda, with a long breath. "The only pleasant thing that my eyes rested upon as I came through the streets this afternoon, was a huge bunch of violets that somebody was carrying. I walked behind them as long as I could."
"Is your old love for Queechy in full force?" said Mr.
Carleton, still turning over the leaves, and smiling.