"Isn't it awkward?" she said as she saw Fleda handling and looking at the pretty toy,--"Isn't it awkward? I sha'n't have a bit of rest now for fear something will happen to that. I hate to have people do such things!"
"Fleda my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn,--"I wouldn't handle it, my love; you may depend there is some charm in it--some mischievous hidden influence,--and if you have much to do with it I am afraid you will find a gradual coldness stealing over you, and a strange forgetfulness of Queechy, and you will perhaps lose your desire ever to go back there any more."
The vinaigrette dropped from Fleda's fingers, but beyond a heightened colour and a little tremulous gravity about the lip, she gave no other sign of emotion.
"Mamma," said Florence laughing,--"you are too bad!"
"Mamma," said Constance, "I wonder how any tender sentiment for you can continue to exist in Fleda's breast!--By the way, Fleda, my dear, do you know that we have heard of two escorts for you? but I only tell you because I know you'll not be fit to travel this age."
"I should not be able to travel to-morrow," said Fleda.
"They are not going to-morrow," said Mrs. Evelyn quietly.
"Who are they?"
"Excellent ones," said Mrs. Evelyn. "One of them is your old friend Mr. Olmney,"
"Mr. Olmney!" said Fleda. "What has brought him to New York?"