"What is in the way?"
But it seemed impossible for Fleda to tell him.
"May I not know?" he said, gently putting away the hair from Fleda's face, which looked distressed. "Is it only your feeling?"
"No sir," said Fleda,--"at least--not the feeling you think it is--but--I could not do it without giving great pain."
Mr. Carleton was silent.
"Not to anybody you know, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, suddenly fearing a wrong interpretation of her words,--"I don't mean that--I mean somebody else--the person--the only person you could apply to--" she said, covering her face in utter confusion.
"Do I understand you?" said he smiling. "Has this gentleman any reason to dislike the sight of me?"
"No sir," said Fleda,--"but he thinks he has."
"That only I meant," said he. "You are quite right, my dear Elfie; I of all men ought to understand that."
The subject was dropped, and in a few minutes his gentle skill had well nigh made Fleda forget what they had been talking about. Himself and his wishes seemed to be put quite out of his own view, and out of hers as far as possible; except that the very fact made Fleda recognize with unspeakable gratitude and admiration the kindness and grace that were always exerted for her pleasure. If her good-will could have been put into the cups of coffee she poured out for him, he might have gone in the strength of them all the way to England. There was strength of another kind to be gained from her face of quiet sorrow and quiet self-command which were her very childhood's own.