The doctor and Fleda sat cozily looking at each other across the toast and chipped beef, their glances grazing the tea-urn, which was just on one side of their range of vision. A comfortable Liverpool-coal fire in a state of repletion burned away indolently, and gave everything else in the room somewhat of its own look of sonsy independence except, perhaps, the delicate creature at whom the doctor, between sips of his tea, took rather wistful observations.
"When are you going to Mrs. Evelyn?" he said, breaking the silence.
"They say next week, Sir."
"I shall be glad of it!" said the doctor.
"Glad of it?" said Fleda, smiling. "Do you want to get rid of me, uncle Orrin?"
"Yes!" said he. "This isn't the right place for you. You are too much alone."
"No, indeed, Sir. I have been reading voraciously, and enjoying myself as much as possible. I would quite as lieve be here as there, putting you out of the question."
"I wouldn't as lieve have you," said he, shaking his head.
"What were you musing about before tea? your face gave me the heartache."
"My face!" said Fleda, smiling, while an instant flush of the eyes answered him; "what was the matter with my face?"