"Mr. Carleton could not be better pleased than at such a tribute to his eloquence," said Mr. Thorn, with a saturnine expression.
"Smiles are common things," said Mr. Stackpole, a little maliciously; "but any man may be flattered to find his words drop diamonds."
"Fleda, my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn, with that trembling tone of concealed ecstasy which always set every one of Fleda's nerves a-jarring "you may tell the gentlemen that they do not always know when they are making an unfelicitous compliment I never read what poets say about 'briny drops' and 'salt tears', without imagining the heroine immediately to be something like Lot's wife."
"Nobody said anything about briny drops, Mamma," said Edith; "why, there's Florence!"
Her entrance made a little bustle, which Fleda was very glad of. Unkind! She was trembling again in every finger. She bent down over her canvas and worked away as hard as she could. That did not hinder her becoming aware presently that Mr. Carleton was standing close beside her.
"Are you not trying your eyes?" said he.
The words were nothing, but the tone was a great deal; there was a kind of quiet intelligence in it. Fleda looked up, and something in the clear steady self-reliant eye she met wrought an instant change in her feeling. She met it a moment, and then looked at her work again with nerves quieted.
"Cannot I persuade them to be of my mind?" said Mr. Carleton, bending down a little nearer to their sphere of action.
"Mr. Carleton is unreasonable to require more testimony of that this evening," said Mr. Thorn; "his own must have been ill employed."
Fleda did not look up, but the absolute quietness of Mr. Carleton's manner could be felt; she felt it, almost with sympathetic pain. Thorn immediately left them, and took leave.