She had not seen such a table for years, and little as
the conventionalities of delicate taste were known there, it was not
without a comeliness of its own in its air of wholesome abundance and the
extreme purity of all its arrangements. If but a piece of cold pork were
on aunt Miriam's table, it was served with a nicety that would not have
offended the most fastidious; and amid irregularities that the fastidious
would scorn, there was a sound excellence of material and preparation
that they very often fail to know. Fleda made up her mind she would be
wanted at home; all the rather perhaps for Hugh's mysterious "hush"; and
there was something in the hearty kindness and truth of these friends that
she felt particularly genial. And if there was a lack of silver at the
board its place was more than filled with the pure gold of association.
They sat down to table, but aunt Miriam's eyes devoured Fleda. Mr. Plum
field set about his more material breakfast with all despatch.
[Illustration: "They will expect me at home."]
"So Mr. Rossitur has left the city for good," said aunt Miriam. "How does
he like it?"
"He hasn't been here but a day, you know, aunt Miriam," said Fleda
evasively.
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