Volume Ii Part 12 (2/2)
”But still, Mr. Carleton,” said Mrs. Evelyn, ”this is only in general ? I want very much to know the particulars; what style of features belonged to this face?”
”The fairest, I think, I have ever known,” said Mr. Carleton.
”You asked me, Miss Evelyn, what was my notion of beauty; this face was a good ill.u.s.tration of it. Not perfection of outline, though it had that, too, in very uncommon degree; but the loveliness of mind and character to which these features were only an index; the thoughts were invariably telegraphed through eye and mouth more faithfully than words could give them.”
”What kind of eyes?” said Florence.
His own grew dark as he answered ?
”Clear and pure as one might imagine an angel's ? through which I am sure my good angel many a time looked at me.”
Good angels were at a premium among the eyes that were exchanging glances just then.
”And Mr. Carleton,” said Mrs. Evelyn, ”is it fair to ask ?
this paragon ? is she living, still?”
”I hope so,” he answered, with his old light smile, dismissing the subject.
”You spoke so much in the past tense,” said Mrs. Evelyn, apologetically.
”Yes; I have not seen it since it was a child's.”
”A child's face! Oh,” said Florence, ”I think you see a great many children's faces with that kind of look.”
”I never saw but the one,” said Mr. Carleton, drily.
So far Fleda listened, with cheeks that would certainly have excited Mrs. Thorn's alarm, if she had not been happily engrossed with Miss Tomlinson's affairs; though up to the last two minutes the idea of herself had not entered Fleda's head in connection with the subject of conversation. But then, feeling it impossible to make her appearance in public that evening, she quietly slipped out of the open window close by, which led into a little greenhouse on the piazza, and by another door gained the hall and the dressing-room.
When Dr. Gregory came to Mrs. Evelyn's an hour or two after, a figure all cloaked and hooded ran down the stairs and met him in the hall.
”Ready!” said the doctor, in surprise.
”I have been ready some time, Sir,” said Fleda.
”Well,” said he, ”then we'll go straight home, for I've not done my work yet.”
”Dear uncle Orrin,” said Fleda, ”if I had known you had work to do, I wouldn't have come.”
”Yes, you would,” said he, decidedly.
She clasped her uncle's arm, and walked with him briskly home through the frosty air, looking at the silent lights and shadows on the walls of the street, and feeling a great desire to cry.
”Did you have a pleasant evening?” said the doctor, when they were about half way.
”Not particularly, Sir,” said Fleda, hesitating.
He said not another word till they got home, and Fleda went up to her room. But the habit of patience overcame the wish to cry; and though the outside of her little gold-clasped bible awoke it again, a few words of the inside were enough to lay it quietly to sleep.
<script>