"Why," said Fleda, thinking that Mr. Carleton had probably retained more than one of his old habits, for she was answering with her old obedience,--"I was doubting what the influence is in that case--worth analyzing, I think. I am afraid the good horse's company has little to do with it."
"What then do you suppose?" said he smiling.
"Why," said Fleda,--"it might be--but I beg your pardon, Mr. Carleton! I am astonished at my own presumption."
"Go on, and let me know why?" he said, with that happiness of manner which was never resisted. Fleda went on, reassuring her courage now and then with a glance.
"The relief might spring, sir, from the gratification of a proud feeling of independence,--or from a dignified sense of isolation,--or an imaginary riding down of opposition--or the consciousness of being master of what you have in hand."
She would have added to the general category, "the running away from oneself;" but the eye and bearing of the person before her forbade even such a thought as connected with him. He laughed, but shook his head.
"Perhaps then," said Fleda, "it may be nothing worse than the working off of a surplus of energy or impatience, that leaves behind no more than can be managed."
"You have learned something of human nature since I had the pleasure of knowing you," he said with a look at once amused and penetrating.
"I wish I hadn't," said Fleda.
Her countenance absolutely fell.