But this was declined, and the gentlemen departed; Fleda, it must be
confessed, seeing nothing in the whole leave-taking but Mr. Carleton's
look and smile. The muffins were a very tame affair after it.

When supper was over she sat down fairly to her letter, and read it twice
through before she folded it up. By this time the room was clear both of
the tea equipage and of Cynthia's presence, and Fleda and her grandfather
were alone in the darkening twilight with the blazing wood fire; he in
his usual place at the side, and she on the hearth directly before it;
both silent, both thinking, for some time. At length Mr. Ringgan spoke,
breaking as it were the silence and his seriousness with the same effort.

"Well dear!" said he cheerfully,--"what does she say?"

"O she says a great many things, grandpa; shall I read yon the letter?"

"No dear, I don't care to hear it; only tell me what she says."

"She says they are going to stay in Paris yet a good while longer."

"Hum!"--said Mr. Ringgan. "Well--that ain't the wisest thing I should like
to hear of her doing."

"Oh but it's because uncle Rossitur likes to stay there, I suppose, isn't
it, grandpa?"

"I don't know, dear. Maybe your aunt's caught the French fever. She
used to be a good sensible woman; but when people will go into a
whirligig, I think some of their wits get blown away before they come