"And happy, Mamma — Fleda don't look miserable — she seems
perfectly happy and contented."

"Yes," said Mrs. Evelyn, "she has got accustomed to this state
of things — it's her life — she makes delicious bread and
puddings for her aunt, and raises vegetables for market, and
oversees her uncle's farmers; and it isn't a hardship to her —
she finds her happiness in it. She is a very good girl, but
she might have been made something much better than a farmer's
wife."

"You may set your mind at rest on that subject, Mamma," said
Constance, still using her chopsticks with great complacency;
"it's my opinion that the farmer is not in existence who is
blessed with such a conjugal futurity. I think Fleda's strong
pastoral tastes are likely to develop themselves in a new
direction."

Mrs. Evelyn looked, with a partial smile, at the pretty
features which the business of eating the strawberries
displayed in sundry novel and picturesque points of view, and
asked what she meant?

"I don't know," said Constance, intent upon her basket; "I
feel a friend's distress for Mr. Thorn — it's all your doing,
Mamma — you wont be able to look him in the face when we have
Fleda next fall. I am sure I shall not want to look at his.
He'll be too savage for anything."