"To-morrow is not your reception-day," said Fleda.
"No, not mine," said Mrs. Evelyn softly,--"but that doesn't signify--it may be one of my neighbours'."
Fleda pulled away at her threads of worsted and wouldn't know anything else.
"I have read of the servants of Lot and the servants of Abraham quarrelling," Mrs. Evelyn went on in the same undertone of delight,--"because the land was too strait for them--I should be very sorry to have anything of the sort happen again, for I cannot imagine where Lot would go to find a plain that would suit him."
"Lot and Abraham, mamma!" said Constance from the sofa,--"what on earth are you talking about?"
"None of your business," said Mrs. Evelyn;--"I was talking of some country friends of mine that you don't know."
Constance knew her mother's laugh very well; but Mrs. Evelyn was impenetrable.
The next day Fleda ran away and spent a good part of the morning with her uncle in the library, looking over new books; among which she found herself quite a stranger, so many had made their appearance since the time when she had much to do with libraries or bookstores. Living friends, male and female, were happily forgotten in the delighted acquaintance-making with those quiet companions which, whatever their deficiencies in other respects, are at least never importunate nor unfaithful. Fleda had come home rather late and was dressing for dinner with Constance's company and help, when Mrs. Evelyn came into her room.
"My dear Fleda," said the lady, her face and voice as full as possible of fun,--"Mr. Carleton wants to know if you will ride with him this afternoon.--I told him I believed you were in general shy of gentlemen that drove their own horses--that I thought I had noticed you were,--but I would come up and see."
"Mrs. Evelyn!--you did not tell him that?"