"If she will forgive you, I will, my lord," Mr. Carleton answered carelessly.
"I will confess myself though," continued his lordship looking at the face that was so intent over the strawberries. "I was under the impression when I first saw a figure in the window that it was Lady Peterborough. I own as soon as I found it was a stranger I had my suspicions--which did not lack confirmation in the course of the interview--I trust I am forgiven the means I used."
"It seems you had your curiosity too, my lord," said Mr. Carleton the uncle.
"Which ought in all justice to have lacked gratification," said Lady Peterborough. "I hope Fleda will not be too ready to forgive you."
"I expect forgiveness nevertheless," said he looking at Fleda. "Must I wait for it?"
"I am much obliged to you, sir."
And then she gave him a very frank smile and blush as she added, "I beg pardon--you know my tongue is American."
"I don't like that," said his lordship gravely.
"Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," said the elder Carleton. "The heart being English, we may hope the tongue will become so too."
"I will not assure you of that, sir," Fleda said laughingly, though her cheeks showed the conversation was not carried on without effort. Oddly enough nobody saw it with any dissatisfaction.