"He has built a fine dissenting chapel down here towards Hollonby," he said gravely, looking her in the face,--"and what is yet worse, his uncle tells me, he goes there half the time himself!"
Fleda could not help laughing, nor colouring, at his manner.
"I thought it was always considered a meritorious action to build a church," she said.
"Indubitably.--But you see, this was a chapel."
The laugh and the colour both grew more unequivocal--Fleda could not help it.
"I beg your pardon, sir--I have not learned such nice distinctions--Perhaps a chapel was wanted just in that place."
"That is presumable. But he might be wanted somewhere else. However," said the gentleman with a good-humoured smile,--"his uncle forgives him; and if his mother cannot influence him,--I am afraid nobody else will. There is no help for it. And I should be very sorry to stand ill with him. I have given you the dark side of his character."
"What is the other side in the contrast?" said Fleda, wondering at herself for her daring.
"It is not for me to say," he answered with a slight shrug of the shoulders and an amused glance at her;--"I suppose it depends upon people's vision,--but if you will permit me, I will instance a bright spot that was shewn to me the other day, that I confess, when I look at it, dazzles my eyes a little."
Fleda only bowed; she dared not speak again.