Fleda looked up at the piece of elegance beside her, and thought what a change must have come over him if he would visit poor places. He was silent and grave, however, and so was she, till they arrived at the house they were going to.
Certainly it was not a disagreeable place. Barb's much less strong-minded sister had at least a good share of her practical nicety. The little board path to the door was clean and white still, with possibly a trifle less brilliant effect. The room and its old inhabitants were very comfortable and tidy the patchwork counterpane as gay as ever. Mrs. Elster was alone, keeping company with a snug little wood fire, which was near as much needed in that early spring weather as it had been during the winter.
Mr. Carleton had come back from his abstraction, and stood, taking half unconscious note of these things, while Fleda was delivering her message to the old woman. Mrs. Elster listened to her implicitly, with, every now and then, an acquiescing nod or ejaculation; but so soon as Fleda had said her say, she burst out, with a voice that had never known the mufflings of delicacy, and was now pitched entirely beyond its owner's ken. Looking hard at Mr. Carleton
"Fleda! Is this the gentleman that's to be your husband?"
The last word elevated and brought out with emphatic distinctness of utterance.
If the demand had been, whether the gentleman in question was a follower of Mohammed, it would hardly have been more impossible for Fleda to give an affirmative answer; but Mr. Carleton laughed, and, bringing his face a little nearer the old crone, answered
"So she has promised, Ma'am ."
It was curious to see the lines of the old woman's face relax as she looked at him.
"He's worthy of you, as far as looks goes," she said, in the same key as before, apostrophising Fleda, who had drawn back, but not stirring her eyes from Mr. Carleton all the time. And then she added to him, with a little, satisfied nod, and in a very decided tone of information
"She will make you a good wife."