Fleda's manner with Mr. Carleton was peculiar and characteristic. In the house, before others, she was as demure and reserved as though he had been a stranger; she never placed herself near him, nor entered into conversation with him, unless when he obliged her; but when they were alone there was a frank confidence and simplicity in her manner that most happily answered the high-bred delicacy that had called it out.
One afternoon of a pleasant day in March Fleda and Hugh were sitting alone together in the sick room. Hugh was weaker than usual, but not confined to his bed; he was in his great easy-chair which had been moved up-stairs for him again. Fleda had been repeating hymns.
"You are tired," Hugh said.
"No--"
"There's something about you that isn't strong," said Hugh fondly. "I wonder where is Mr. Carleton to-day. It is very pleasant, isn't it?"
"Very pleasant, and warm; it is like April; the snow all went off yesterday, and the ground is dry except in spots."
"I wish he would come and give you a good walk. I have noticed how you always come back looking so much brighter after one of your walks or rides with him."
"What makes you think so, dear Hugh?" said Fleda a little troubled.
"Only my eyes," said Hugh smiling. "It does me as much good as you, Fleda."
"I never want to go and leave you, Hugh."