"You never looked to see whether I was killed in the meanwhile, I suppose?"
"No--never," said Fleda gravely, as she took her place on a low seat in the corner,--"I always knew you were safe before I touched the paper."
"What do you mean?"
"I am not an enemy, Charlton," said Fleda laughing. "I mean that I used to make aunt Miriam look over the accounts before I did."
Charlton walked up and down the room for a little while in sullen silence; and then brought up before Fleda.
"What are you doing?"
Fleda looked up,--a glance that as sweetly and brightly as possible half asked half bade him be silent and ask no questions.
"What are you doing?" he repeated.
"I am putting a patch on my shoe."
His look expressed more indignation than anything else.