"I can't now, uncle Orrin--I am dislodged--and you know there is nothing to do then but to go."
"Come and stay with me till next week."
But Fleda said it was best not, and went home to finish her preparations.
She had no chance till late, for several gentlemen spent the evening with them. Mr. Carleton was there part of the time, but he was one of the first to go; and Fleda could not find an opportunity to say that she should not see him again. Her timidity would not allow her to make one. But it grieved her.
At last she escaped to her own room, where most of her packing was still to do. By the time half the floor and all the bed was strewn with neat-looking piles of things, the varieties of her modest wardrobe, Florence and Constance came in to see and talk with her, and sat down on the floor too; partly perhaps because the chairs were all bespoken in the service of boxes and baskets, and partly to follow what seemed to be the prevailing style of things.
"What do you suppose has become of Mr. Thorn?" said Constance. "I have a presentiment that you will find him cracking nuts sociably with Mr. Rossitur or drinking one of aunt Lucy's excellent cups of coffee--in comfortable expectation of your return."
"If I thought that I should stay here," said Fleda. "My dear, those were my cups of coffee!"
"I wish I could make you think it then," said Constance.
"But you are glad to go home, aren't you, Fleda?" said Florence.
"She isn't!" said her sister. "She knows mamma contemplates making a grand entertainment of all the Jews as soon as she is gone. What does mamma mean by that, Fleda?--I observe you comprehend her with most invariable quickness."