"Why, you don't look as bright as the rest of the world this morning," said Fleda.
"What a wretched storm!"
"Wretched! This beautiful snow! Here have I been enjoying it for this hour."
But Florence rubbed her hands, and looked as if Fleda were no rule for other people.
"How horrid it will make the going out to-night, if it snows all day!"
"Then you, can stay at home," said her mother, composedly.
"Indeed I shall not, Mamma."
"Mamma," said Constance, now coming in with Edith, "isn't breakfast ready? It strikes me that the fowling-piece wants polishing up. I have an indistinct impression that the sun would be upon the meridian, if he was anywhere."
"Not quite so bad as that," said Fleda, smiling; "it is only an hour and a half since I came down stairs."
"You horrid little creature! Mamma, I consider it an act of inhospitality to permit studious habits on the part of your guests. And I am surprised your ordinary sagacity has not discovered that it is the greatest impolicy towards the objects of your maternal care. We are labouring under growing disadvantages; for when we have brought the enemy to, at long shot, there is a mean little craft that comes in and unmans him, in a close fight, before we can get our speaking-trumpets up."