"There are no difficulties," Mrs. Rossitur and Hugh said both at once.
"I knew there weren't. Put a pair or two of clean stockings in your trunk--that's all you want--Mrs. Pritchard and I will find the rest. There's the people in Fourteenth street wants you the first of November and I want you all the time till then, and longer too.--Stop--I've got a missive of some sort here for you--"
He foisted out of his breast-pocket a little package of notes; one from Mrs. Evelyn and one from Florence begging Fleda to come to them at the time the doctor had named; the third from Constance.
"My darling little Fleda,
"I am dying to see you--so pack up and come down with Dr. Gregory if the least spark of regard for me is slumbering in your breast--Mamma and Florence are writing to beg you,--but though an insignificant member of the family, considering that instead of being 'next to head' only little Edith prevents my being at the less dignified end of this branch of the social system,--I could not prevail upon myself to let the representations of my respected elders go unsupported by mine--especially as I felt persuaded of the superior efficacy of the motives I had it in my power to present to your truly philanthropical mind.
"I am in a state of mind that baffles description--Mr. Carleton is going home!!----
"I have not worn earrings in my ears for a fortnight--my personal appearance is become a matter of indifference to me--any description of mental exertion is excruciating--I sit constantly listening for the ringing of the door-bell, and when it sounds I rush frantically to the head of the staircase and look over to see who it is--the mere sight of pen and ink excites delirious ideas--judge what I suffer in writing to you--
"To make the matter worse (if it could be) I have been informed privately that he is going home to crown at the altar of Hymen an old attachment to one of the loveliest of all England's daughters. Conceive the complication of my feelings!----
"Nothing is left me but the resources of friendship--so come darling Fleda, before a barrier of ice interposes itself between my chilled heart and your sympathy.
"Mr. Thorn's state would move my pity if I were capable of being moved by anything--by this you will comprehend he is returned. He has been informed by somebody that there is a wolf in sheep's clothing prowling about Queechy, and his head is filled with the idea that you have fallen a victim, of which in my calmer moments I have in vain endeavoured to dispossess him--Every morning we are wakened up at an unseasonable hour by a furious ringing at the door-bell--Joe Manton pulls off his nightcap and slowly descending the stairs opens the door and finds Mr. Thorn, who enquires distractedly whether Miss Ringgan has arrived; and being answered in the negative gloomily walks off towards the East river--The state of anxiety in which his mother is thereby kept is rapidly depriving her of all her flesh--but we have directed Joe lately to reply 'no sir, but she is expected,'--upon which Mr. Thorn regularly smiles faintly and rewards the 'fowling piece' with a quarter dollar--