The second breakfast was a cheerfuller thing. But when the second traveller was despatched, and the rest fell back upon their old numbers, Fleda was very quiet again. It vexed her to be so, but she could not change her mood. She felt as if she had been whirled along in a dream and was now just opening her eyes to daylight and reality. And reality--she could not help it--looked rather dull after dreamland. She thought it was very well she was waked up; but it cost her some effort to appear so. And then she charged herself with ingratitude, her aunt and Hugh were so exceedingly happy in her company.
"Earl Douglass is quite delighted with the clover hay, Fleda," said Hugh, as the three sat at an early dinner.
"Is he?" said Fleda.
"Yes,--you know he was very unwilling to cure it in your way--and he thinks there never was anything like it now."
"Did you ever see finer ham, Fleda?" inquired her aunt. "Mr. Plumfield says it could not be better."
"Very good!" said Fleda, whose thoughts had somehow got upon Mr. Carleton's notions about female education and were very busy with them.
"I expected you would have remarked upon our potatoes, before now," said Hugh. "These are the Elephants--have you seen anything like them in New York?"
"There cannot be more beautiful potatoes," said Mrs. Rossitur.
"We had not tried any of them before you went away, Fleda, had we?"
"I don't know, aunt Lucy!--no, I think not."