"But she looks more like a wax figure yet than anything else, don't she, Guy?"
"Not like any that ever I saw," said Mr. Carleton gravely. "Hardly substantial enough. Mother, I have come to tell you I am ashamed of myself for having given you such cause of offence yesterday."
Mrs. Carleton's quick look, as she laid her hand on her son's arm, said sufficiently well that she would have excused him from making any apology rather than have him humble himself in the presence of a third person.
"Fleda heard me yesterday," said he; "it was right she should hear me to-day."
"Then my dear Guy," said his mother with a secret eagerness which she did not allow to appear,--"if I may make a condition for my forgiveness, which you had before you asked for it,--will you grant me one favour?"
"Certainly, mother,--if I can."
"You promise me?"
"As well in one word as in two."
"Promise me that you will never, by any circumstances, allow yourself to be drawn into--what is called an affair of honour."
Mr. Carleton's brow changed, and without making any reply, perhaps to avoid his mother's questioning gaze, he rose up and walked two or three times the length of the cabin. His mother and Fleda watched him doubtfully.