"It's a confounded life, sir," said Mr. Rossitur, taking a pamphlet from the table to fold and twist as he spoke,--"it is a confounded life; for the head and the hands must either live separate, or the head must do no other work but wait upon the hands. It is an alternative of loss and waste, sir."
"The alternative seems to be of--a--limited application," said the doctor, as Fleda, having found that Hugh and Barby had been beforehand with her, now came back to the company. "I am sure this lady would not give such a testimony."
"About what?" said Fleda, colouring under the fire of so many eyes.
"The blighting influence of Ceres' sceptre," said Mr. Thorn.
"This country life," said her uncle;--"do you like it, Fleda?"
"You know, uncle," said she cheerfully, "I was always of the old Douglasses' mind--I like better to hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak."
"Is that one of Earl Douglass's sayings?" said the doctor.
"Yes sir," said Fleda with quivering lips,--"but not the one you know--an older man."
"Ah!" said the doctor intelligently. "Mr. Rossitur,--speaking of hands,--I have employed the Irish very much of late years--they are as good as one can have, if you do not want a head."
"That is to say,--if you have a head," said Thorn.