She was as far from realising it when she got into the house. They entered now at once into the breakfast-room, where the same party were gathered whom she had met once before that morning. Mr. Carleton the elder, and Lord Peterborough and Lady Peterborough, she had met without seeing. But Fleda could look at them now; and if her colour came and went as frankly as when she was a child, she could speak to them and meet their advances with the same free and sweet self-possession as then — the rare dignity a little wood-flower, that is moved by a breath, but recovers as easily and instantly its quiet standing. There were one or two who looked a little curiously at first to see whether this new member of the family were worthy of her place and would fill it to satisfy them. Not Mr. Carleton; he never sought to ascertain the value of anything that belonged to him by a popular vote; and his own judgment always stood carelessly alone. But Mrs. Carleton was less sure of her own ground, or of others. For five minutes she noted Fleda's motions and words, her blushes and smiles, as she stood talking to one and another — for five minutes, and then, with a little smile at her sister, Mrs. Carleton moved off to the breakfast-table, well pleased that Lady Peterborough was too engaged to answer her. Fleda had won them all. Mr. Carleton's intervening shield of grace and kindness was only needed here against the too much attention or attraction that might distress her. He was again, now they were in presence of others, exactly what he had been to her when she was a child — the same cool and efficient friend and protector. Nobody in the room showed less thought of her, _except_ in action; a great many little things done for her pleasure or comfort, so quietly that nobody knew it but one person, and she hardly noticed it at the time. All could not have the same tact. There was an uninterrupted easy flow of talk at the table, which Fleda heard just enough to join in where it was necessary; the rest of the time she sat in a kind of abstraction, dipping enormous strawberries one by one into white sugar, with a curious want of recognition between them and the ends of her fingers; it never occurred to her that they had picked baskets full. "I have done something for which you will hardly thank me, Mr. Carleton," said Lord Peterborough. "I have driven this lady to tears within the first hour of her being in the house." "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.