However incensed, the young men endeavoured to carry it off with the same coolness that their adversary shewed. No more words passed. But Mrs. Carleton, possibly quickened by Fleda's fears, was not satisfied with the carriage of all parties, and resolved to sound her son, happy in knowing that nothing but truth was to be had from him. She found an opportunity that very afternoon when he was sitting alone on the deck. The neighbourhood of little Fleda she hardly noticed. Fleda was curled up among her cushions, luxuriously bending over a little old black Bible which was very often in her hand at times when she was quiet and had no observation to fear.
"Reading!--always reading?" said Mrs. Carleton, as she came up and took a place by her son.
"By no means!" he said, closing his book with a smile;--"not enough to tire any one's eyes on this voyage, mother."
"I wish you liked intercourse with living society," said Mrs. Carleton, leaning her arm on his shoulder and looking at him rather wistfully.
"You need not wish that,--when it suits me," he answered.
"But none suits you. Is there any on board?"
"A small proportion," he said, with the slight play of feature which always effected a diversion of his mother's thoughts, no matter in what channel they had been flowing.
"But those young men," she said, returning to the charge,--"you hold yourself very much aloof from them?"
He did not answer, even by a look, but to his mother the perfectly quiet composure of his face was sufficiently expressive.
"I know what you think, but Guy, you always had the same opinion of them?"