"Well sit down now," said he shaking his head, "and pour me out a cup of tea--your mother can't make it right."
And sipping his tea, for some time the old doctor sat listening to Mrs. Rossitur and eating bread and butter; saying little, but casting a very frequent glance at the figure opposite him behind the tea-board.
"I am afraid," said he after a while, "that your care for my good opinion won't outlast an occasion. Is that the way you look for every day?"
The colour came with the smile; but the old doctor looked at her in a way that made the tears come too. He turned his eyes to Mrs. Rossitur for an explanation.
"She is well," said Mrs. Rossitur fondly,--"she has been very well--except her old headaches now and then;--I think she has grown rather thin lately."
"Thin!" said the old doctor,--"etherealized to a mere abstract of herself; only that is a very bad figure, for an abstract should have all the bone and muscle of the subject; and I should say you had little left but pure spirit. You are the best proof I ever saw of the principle of the homoeopaths--I see now that though a little corn may fatten a man, a great deal may be the death of him."
"But I have tried it both ways, uncle Orrin," said Fleda laughing. "I ought to be a happy medium between plethora and starvation. I am pretty substantial, what there is of me."
"Substantial!" said the doctor; "you look as substantial a personage as your old friend the 'faire Una,' just about. Well prepare yourself, gentle Saxon, to ride home with me the day after to-morrow. I'll try a little humanizing regimen with you."
"I don't think that is possible, uncle Orrin," said Fleda gently.
"We'll talk about the possibility afterwards--at present all you have to do is to get ready. If you raise difficulties you will find me a very Hercules to clear them away--I'm substantial enough I can tell you--so it's just as well to spare yourself and me the trouble."