"No," said he, laughing, "certainly not; but, if you will
forgive me for saying so, I think you complain of it, tacitly
— and that will raise a good many complaints in other
quarters, if you do not take care of yourself."

He shook hands and left them; and Mrs. Plumfield sat silently
looking at Fleda, who, on her part, looked at nothing but the
gray stocking.

"What is all this, Fleda?"

"What is what, aunt Miriam?" said Fleda, picking up a stitch
with desperate diligence.

"Why did you want to run away from Mr. Olmney?"

"I didn't wish to be delayed, — I wanted to get home."

"Then, why wouldn't you let him go home with you?"

"I liked better to go alone, aunt Miriam."

"Don't you like him, Fleda?"

"Certainly, aunt Miriam; very much."

"I think he likes you Fleda," said her aunt, smiling.

"I am very sorry for it," said Fleda, with great gravity.