Syr Cauline
That evening, the last of their stay at Montepoole, Fleda was thought well enough to take her tea in company. So Mr. Carleton carried her down, though she could have walked, and placed her on the sofa in the parlour.
Whatever disposition the young officers might have felt to renew their pleasantry on the occasion, it was shamed into silence. There was a pure dignity about that little pale face which protected itself. They were quite struck, and Fleda had no reason to complain of want of attention from any of the party. Mr. Evelyn kissed her. Mr. Thorn brought a little table to the side of the sofa for her cup of tea to stand on, and handed her the toast most dutifully; and her cousin Rossitur went back and forth between her and the tea-urn. All of the ladies seemed to take immense satisfaction in looking at her, they did it so much; standing about the hearth-rug with their cups in their hands, sipping their tea. Fleda was quite touched with everybody's kindness, but somebody at the back of the sofa whom she did not see was the greatest comfort of all.
"You must let me carry you up-stairs when you go, Fleda," said her cousin. "I shall grow quite jealous of your friend Mr. Carleton."
"No," said Fleda smiling a little,--"I shall not let any one but him carry me up,--if he will."
"We shall all grow jealous of Mr. Carleton," said Thorn "He means to monopolize you, keeping you shut up there up-stairs."
"He didn't keep me shut up," said Fleda.
Mr. Carleton was welcome to monopolize her, if it depended on her vote.
"Not fair play, Carleton," continued the young officer, wisely shaking his head,--"all start alike, or there's no fun in the race. You've fairly distanced us--left us nowhere."
He might have talked Chinese and been as intelligible to Fleda, and as interesting to Guy, for all that appeared.