"Do you mean to say, Mr. Carleton," said Constance, "that it is necessary to distinguish between shades of green in judging of roses?"
"It is necessary to make shades of distinction in judging of almost anything, Miss Constance. The difference between varieties of the same flower is often extremely nice."
"I have read of magicians," said Thorn softly, bending down towards Fleda's work,--"who did not need to see things to answer questions respecting them."
Fleda thought that was a kind of magic remarkably common in the world; but even her displeasure could not give her courage to speak. It gave her courage to be silent, however; and Mr. Thorn's best efforts in a conversation of some length could gain nothing but very uninterested rejoinders. A sudden pinch from Constance then made her look up and almost destroyed her self-possession as she saw Mr. Stackpole make his way into the room.
"I hope I find my fair enemy in a mollified humour," he said approaching them.
"I suppose you have repaired damages, Mr. Stackpole," said Constance,--"since you venture into the region of broken windows again."
"Mr. Stackpole declared there were none to repair," said Mrs. Evelyn from the sofa.
"More than I knew of," said the gentleman laughing--"there were more than I knew of; but you see I court the danger, having rashly concluded that I might as well know all my weak points at once."
"Miss Ringgan will break nothing to-night, Mr. Stackpole--she promised me she would not."
"Not even her silence?" said the gentleman.