"Yes, a great black horse, strong, but so gentle, and he went so delightfully. His name was Harold. Oh I should like to see that horse!--When I wasn't with him, Mr. Carleton used to ride another, the greatest beauty of a horse, Hugh; a brown Arabian--so slender and delicate--her name was Zephyr, ind she used to go like the wind, to be sure. Mr. Carleton said he wouldn't trust me on such a fly-away thing."
"But you didn't use to ride alone?" said Hugh.
"Oh no!--and I wouldn't have been afraid if he had chosen to take me on any one."
"But do you think, Fleda, he was a good man? as I mean?"
"I am sure he was better than a great many others," answered Fleda evasively;--"the worst of him was infinitely better than the best of half the people down stairs,--Mr. Sweden included."
"Sweden"--you don't call his name right."
"The worse it is called the better, in my opinion," said Fleda.
"Well, I don't like him; but what makes you dislike him so much?"
"I don't know--partly because uncle Rolf and Marion like him so much, I believe--I don't think there is any moral expression in his face."
"I wonder why they like him," said Hugh.