"I'd make a piece of poetry of that if I was you, Carleton," said Mr. Thorn.
"Mr. Carleton has done that already," said Mrs. Evelyn smoothly.
"I never heard you talk so before, Guy," said his mother looking at him. His eyes had grown dark with intensity of expression while he was speaking, gazing at visionary flowers or beauties through the dinner-table mahogany. He looked up and laughed as she addressed him, and rising turned off lightly with his usual sir.
"I congratulate you, Mrs. Carleton," Mrs. Evelyn whispered as they went from the table, "that this little beauty is not a few years older."
"Why?" said Mrs. Carleton. "If she is all that Guy says, I would give anything in the world to see him married."
"Time enough," said Mrs. Evelyn with a knowing smile.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Carleton,--"I think he would be happier. He is a restless spirit--nothing satisfies him--nothing fixes him. He cannot rest at home--he abhors politics--he flits way from country to country and doesn't remain long anywhere."
"And you with him."
"And I with him. I should like to see if a wife could not persuade him to stay at home."
"I guess you have petted him too much," said Mrs. Evelyn slyly.