Perhaps Mr. Carleton felt too much pleasure at this speech to make any answer, for he made none.
"It is only selfishness, Elfie," said he presently, looking down to the quiet sweet little face which seemed to him, and was, more pure than anything of earth's mould he had ever seen.--"You know I must take care of you for my own sake."
Fleda laughed a little.
"But what will you do when we get to Paris?"
"I don't know. I should like to have you always, Elfie."
"You'll have to get aunt Lucy to give me to you," said Fleda.
"Mr. Carleton," said she a few minutes after, "is that story in a book?"
"What story?"
"About the lady and the little sprites that waited on her."
"Yes, it is in a book; you shall see it, Elfie.--Here we are!"