It was the same Mrs. Carleton of old Fleda saw while this was doing unaltered almost entirely. The fine figure and bearing were the same; time had made no difference; even the face had paid little tribute to the years that had passed by it; and the hair held its own without a change. Bodily and mentally she was the same. Apparently she was thinking the like of Fleda.
"I remember you very well," she said, with kindly accent, when Fleda sat down by her. "I have never forgotten you. A dear little creature you were. I always knew that."
Fleda hoped privately the lady would see no occasion to change her mind; but for the present she was bankrupt in words.
"I was in the same room this morning at Montepoole where we used to dine, and it brought back the whole thing to me the time when you were sick there with us. I could think of nothing else. But I don't think I was your favourite, Fleda."
Such a rush of blood again answered her as moved Mrs. Carleton, in common kindness, to speak of common things. She entered into a long story of her journey of her passage from England of the steamer that brought her of her stay in New York all which Fleda heard very indifferently well. She was more distinctly conscious of the handsome travelling dress, which seemed all the while to look as its wearer had done, with some want of affinity upon the little grey hood which lay on the chair in the corner. Still she listened and responded as became her, though, for the most part, with eyes that did not venture from home. The little hood itself could never have kept its place with less presumption, nor with less flutter of self-distrust.
Mrs. Carleton came at last to a general account of the circumstances that had determined Guy to return home so suddenly, where she was more interesting. She hoped he would not be detained, but it was impossible to tell. It was just as it might happen.
"Are you acquainted with the commission I have been charged with?" she said, when her narrations had at last lapsed into silence, and Fleda's eyes had returned to the ground.
"I suppose so, Ma'am, " said Fleda, with a little smile.
"It is a very pleasant charge" said Mrs. Carleton, softly kissing her cheek. Something in the face itself must have called forth that kiss, for this time there were no requisitions of politeness.
"Do you recognise my commission, Fleda?"