Cousin Kate

Chapter XVI

Philip gave a shout of laughter: conduct which Pennymore considered to be so unseemly that he ignored it, keeping his eyes fixed on Kate. He said in a perfectly expressionless voice: “In consequence of which, miss, the chef, so far as I am able to understand him—but he has relapsed into the French tongue, which he is regrettably prone to do when excited—has formed the intention of leaving Staplewood tomorrow.”

Philip’s shoulders shook, but Kate was not amused. “Good God!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, miss,” agreed Pennymore, according this very proper way of receiving the tidings the tribute of a slight bow. “Furthermore, one of the kitchen-maids has so far forgotten her position as to fall into the vapours.”

“But this is a Greek tragedy, with Pennymore the Chorus!” said Philip.

Pennymore said arctically: “If you will permit me to say so, Master Philip, it is hardly a laughing matter!”

Recognizing that by using this form of address Pennymore was trying to reduce him to schoolboy status, Mr Philip Broome grinned, but obligingly begged pardon.

“But—but why does the chef wish to leave?” asked Kate.

“On account of the Prophecy, miss. I’m sure Mrs Thorne has a perfect right to dream of Horrors, if she so wishes, but I do not consider it advisable to describe her dreams to the household. In fact, far otherwise, for it has a very upsetting effect on the female staff, not to mention the chef—but that was to be expected, him being a Foreigner. Mrs Thorne, miss, makes quite a habit of dreaming of Disaster. The first time she did so, the second footman tripped on the back stairs the very next day, and fell to the bottom.”

“Good gracious!” said Kate. “Was he badly injured? You don’t mean, surely, that he broke his neck?”

“Oh, no, miss! It was worse than that,” said Pennymore. “He broke three of the Sevres cups, thus ruining the Set.”

“Not worse, Pennymore!” protested Kate.

“He could have been better spared, miss, I assure you,” replied Pennymore darkly. “A very unsatisfactory young man, and easily replaceable, which the Sevres china was not. However, what with that, and Mrs Thorne’s dreaming she saw Staplewood being burnt to the ground a couple of nights before the kitchen-chimmey caught fire, so that rock salt had to be thrown on the range, which set dinner back an hour, she’s only got to dream she saw lions and tigers in the garden for none of the young maids to stir out of the house for a sennight.”

“What’s her latest dream?” asked Philip.

“Well, sir, it is Extremely Unpleasant, and not at all the sort of thing one would expect of a respectable female, however given to what I will call Odd Humours. She says that she dreamed there was a coffin in the Blue saloon, with blood streaming from it. Yes, miss, most distasteful, and, I venture to say, highly unlikely. Unfortunately, one of the maids informed Miss Sidlaw, and she was so much provoked that she took it upon herself to give Mrs Thorne a scold, quite as if she thought she was standing in my lady’s shoes.”

“Oh, that will never do!” Kate said quickly.

“No, miss, nor it hasn’t. There has been a Quarrel between them,” replied Pennymore. “And,” he said, coming to his grand climax, “Mrs Thorne is now laid down upon her bed with Spasms. I thought you would wish to know, miss.”

This rider incensed Mr Philip Broome into saying acidly: “Oh, indeed? And what made you think so?”

Kate, more accustomed than her betrothed to this time-honoured phrase, intervened hastily. “You did very right to tell me, Pennymore. I’ll try what I can do to reconcile Sidlaw and Mrs Thorne.”

“I’ll deal with the chef,” offered Philip. “You needn’t look at me so despitefully, Pennymore! Do you think I can’t do it?”

“I was merely thinking, Master Philip, that being as Miss Kate has lived in Foreign Parts, it might be better if she was to speak to the chef—in his own tongue,” said Pennymore coldly.

“No doubt it would be, if he were a Spaniard, but I daresay I am quite as fluent in French as she is, even though I haven’t lived in foreign parts! And don’t imagine you can come it over me by calling me Master Philip, you old bangster, because you can’t!”

“Now you’ve offended him!” said Kate reproachfully, when Pennymore had bowed himself out of the room.

“Not I! Didn’t you see his mouth twitching? Pennymore and I are old friends—which won’t deter him from combing my hair presently for using cant terms in front of a lady! Kate, you don’t mean to embroil yourself in this cat fight, do you?”

“Yes, of course I do! That is to say, I hope I may be able to smooth things over: it’s the least I can do for my aunt! I must go: where is my reticule?”

“It’s here,” he said, picking it up from the table. “Good God, what do you carry in it? It weighs a ton!”

“Oh, it’s my door key! I put it in my reticule because I couldn’t think of a secure hiding-place for it. I can’t stay to explain it to you now, but I will presently!”

He was obliged to be satisfied, for she hurried away on the words, and was no more seen until she put in a belated appearance at the table on which a cold nuncheon had been set out. Mr Philip Broome, who was moodily eating cheese, rose at her entrance, and ejaculated: “At last! I thought you were never coming back! What the deuce kept you so long?”

“I collect, from that question, that you had no difficulty in persuading the chef to remain at his post!” Kate said, with asperity.

“Very little. I take it your task was not an easy one?”

“No, dear sir, it was not all easy! It was singularly exhausting, in fact!”

“You don’t look exhausted,” he said, smiling at her. “You look to be in high beauty! Did you succeed in reconciling the warring cats?”

“Oh, no, only time will do that!” she said cheerfully. “The best I could achieve was to flatter each into believing that her behaviour was in the nature of a triumph for the other, and that if either of them failed in this hour of trouble the house would fall to pieces, and my aunt suffer a relapse. So now they are not speaking to one another, and I can see that I shall have to be a go-between until they make up their quarrel, or until my aunt is well enough to leave her room.”

He had picked up the carving knife, but at this he put it down again, and demanded to be told for how many more days she meant to remain at Staplewood.

“Well, until I know how my aunt goes on, I can’t tell that,” she responded. “Not many, I hope. But you cannot, in all seriousness, expect me to run away at this moment, when at last I have the opportunity to be of real use to my aunt! You may think it a paltry service indeed, if you found it easy to pacify the chef, I daresay you do—but I promise you it was not at all easy to soothe and remonstrate with two angry women, one of whom thinks herself first in consequence, and the other of whom, though amiable, suffers from every imaginable disorder, and has so much sensibility that the least unpleasantness brings on all her most distressing symptoms. What is in this pie?”

“Venison. I never heard such—”

“How good! I wish you will give me some: I am perfectly ravenous!”

“Kate, how can you let that fat, lazy creature bamboozle you?” he expostulated. “You don’t mean to tell me that you swallowed all those plumpers?”

“Every one!” she assured him, with a Chuckle. “I admired her fortitude, too, for keeping up so bravely, when she has had the influenza, and a severe colic, just like my aunt—only worse! It seems to be one of her peculiarities that whenever any one in the house is indisposed she becomes indisposed in exactly the same way. Only she never says a word about it.”

“I wish you had allowed me to deal with her!”

“That wouldn’t have answered the purpose at all: she would very likely have gone into convulsions! What she needed was sympathy, not a jobation! She had enough of that from Sidlaw ! Of course, they are both shockingly jealous, which makes it difficult to bring them about.”

“I thought they were bosom-bows!”

“Yes, so did I, when I first came here, but I soon found it was no such thing. They are in—in defensive alliance against Pennymore and Tenby.” She looked up, no longer funning, and said: “This is a very unhappy house, isn’t it? Not in the least what I had supposed an English home would be like. It is more like three houses, with no love between any of them. Sir Timothy and my aunt are always very civil to each other, but they seem to live as strangers. And Torquil lives apart from either of them. And, although my aunt and Sir Timothy don’t quarrel, their servants do! Which makes it uncomfortable—don’t you think?”

“It was not always so,” he replied. “And our home won’t be!”

“Oh, no!” she agreed, smiling warmly at him.

He stretched out his hand to her across the table. “Can’t I persuade you to let me take you away tomorrow, Kate?”

She laid her own hand in his, but shook her head. “Not while my aunt is unwell, and I can be of use here. You could not wish me to do what my conscience tells me is wrong!”

“I wish to have you in safety.”

“I don’t think I am in danger. Even when I’ve put him in a flame, Torquil hasn’t offered me any hurt, and he doesn’t think I’m one of his enemies.”

“At least promise me one thing!” he said urgently.

She looked speculatively at him, the mischief back in her eyes. “Are you trying to sell me a bargain?” she inquired.

“No, you suspicious little wretch! I want you only to promise me that you won’t go alone with Torquil beyond sight of the house. I think you may be right that at the moment he regards you as his friend, but there is no depending on people whose minds are unhinged. Anything might happen to make him turn on you, without warning! A sudden fright, a rash word from you—even an attempt on his part to embrace you! If you were to struggle, I have the greatest fear that he would be unable to resist the temptation to strangle you. I tell you in all seriousness that you owe it to yourself, far more than to my intervention, which might have come too late, that he didn’t strangle you on that day when he had his hands about your throat. You stood perfectly still, and although his—how shall I put it?—his demon stirred, it didn’t fully wake. What would have happened if I had not come in, I don’t know, but I believe you are safe enough as long as there is someone within sight: Torquil is still sane enough to know that the atrocious things he does are wrong, and to fear discovery—to be detected in the act!”

“But he forgets! Does he only pretend to have forgotten?”

“No, I think not,” he said decidedly. “It may be fanciful, but I have sometimes wondered if he forgets because his mind refuses to remember what he has done in one of his mad fits. Do you understand at all?”

She nodded. “Yes—I think I do. I’ll take care. And you will be here, won’t you?”

“You may be sure of that. I suspect that Delabole locks the door into the West Wing when he goes to bed, but it’s easy enough for an active boy to climb out through any of the windows: I did so, several times, when shut up as a punishment! So I think you should lock your door, just to be on the safe side. And that reminds me! Why, my love, do you carry the key in your reticule?”

She told him how, on the night of the storm, she had been unable to open her door, and had discovered next morning, when she had opened it without the smallest difficulty, that the key was missing from the lock; how her aunt had suggested, in gentle amusement, that when she had leapt out of bed she had been half-asleep; and how she had said that the key should be found.

“But it never was, and it’s my belief it was never lost, but in Sidlaw’s possession all the time!” Kate said, her eyes kindling. “I was only just in time, last night, to stop her from locking me in again! She thought I was asleep, of course, but was made to look nohow! Oh, how much I dislike that woman! But why should she do such a thing? Did my aunt order her to? And still why? To keep Torquil out? I can’t believe it! Even you think it unlikely that he would kill me without provocation, and how much less likely must my aunt think it!”

He had listened to her in attentive silence, a slight frown between his brows, and he now said slowly. I think it more probable that it has been done to keep you in than to keep Torquil out. Has your door been locked every night?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never tried it since that night!” she said. “I supposed that no one had been able to find it, and I forgot about it.”

“Had you left your room before that night?”

“Yes, once, before you came. It was after the dinner-party—oh, weeks ago! I wasn’t sleepy, and I sat sewing in my room till my candle began to gutter. I still wasn’t sleepy, and I drew back the blinds to look out, wishing that I could take a walk in the garden. Then I saw a man, by the yew hedge, but only for an instant: I think he must have caught sight of me, for he drew back immediately, and he might well have done so, you know, for although the moonlight was faint, it was shining into my window. I thought, of course, that it was a burglar, and ran along the gallery to my aunt’s room. She wasn’t there, but she came up the stairs at the end of the gallery, just as I was wondering what I should do. She was looking very tired, and it was the first time she ever spoke crossly to me. She told me to go back to bed. She said the figure I had seen was one of the servants. And then Torquil came into the gallery from the West Wing, and I thought he was drunk.” She paused, considering it. “And I still think he was drunk! He said that he had been in the woods, and that the doctor and Badger were still hunting for him. He was giggling, too, and—oh, chirping merry! He drank a great deal at dinner, and afterwards slipped away. It was uncivil, but one couldn’t really blame him; it was such an insipid party! Sir Timothy enjoyed it, but my aunt said it was an intolerable bore, and I must own I think it was very silly of her to have included Torquil, particularly when he didn’t at all wish to be included.

“Was he amiable?”

“Well, he started in the sulks, but he behaved perfectly properly at dinner.”

“Then I should suppose that he was included in that party to silence the ondits.”

She looked startled. “Are there any?”

“According to Gurney, people have begun to whisper that there’s something odd about him. It isn’t surprising.”

“No—I suppose it isn’t,” she said sadly. “But how dreadful if it came to his ears!”

“It isn’t likely to. Don’t look so harassed, love! Would you care to take a walk with me through the park, or shall I have my horses put to, and tool you round the countryside?”

“Good God, no!” she exclaimed. “That would give the tattle-boxes something to talk about indeed!”

“What of it?”

“Philip, it would be all over the house, in the twinkling of a bed-post! Sidlaw would tell my aunt, making it appear that I was behaving in a—in a clandestine way! No, don’t laugh! She’s an arch-intelligencer, you know: “that’s why the other servants hate her. She watched me go into the shrubbery, the day you came and sat beside me there, and she told my aunt, and my aunt spoke to me about the impropriety of it. I was never nearer to pulling caps with her! No, and never so thankful, when you set me down yesterday, that no one saw me enter the house! It is bad enough that we are secretly betrothed: it is not at all the thing! I couldn’t bear it to come to my aunt’s ears before I’ve told her myself that you’ve offered for me! She would think me so sly!” She saw that his brows had drawn together, and said imploringly: “Oh, Philip, don’t look angry! Pray try to understand!”

“I am angry!” he responded harshly, adding, as her eyes widened in dismay: “Oh, not with you! Never with you, Kate! Only with circumstance! I think it intolerable that we should be obliged to hide our teeth—play the concave-suit!—because of Minerva’s illness! But I do understand your scruples. You are very right: neither of us could bear the sort of backstairs gossip, and speculation, which would be provoked by any indiscretion. I must still wish that you would let me remove you from Staplewood—but I’ll say no more on that head!” He took her hand, and kissed it. “Don’t be troubled, my sweet! God forbid I should try to persuade you to do anything against your conscience!”

“It would weigh on me all my life if I left my aunt now!” she said, searching his face with anxious eyes.

“Very well,” he replied. He hesitated for a moment, and then, as she looked inquiringly at him, shook his head, crookedly smiling. “No. There’s a great deal I could say to you, but it would only set you at outs with me, so I’ll keep my tongue. Must I conceal the news from my uncle? I should wish to tell him—and at once.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, pray do tell him! Then, if he gives his consent, it will make everything right, won’t it?”

“His consent, my little love, is not necessary!”

“His approval, then,” she said docilely.

“That’s not necessary either, though I should wish him to approve.”

“It is necessary to me,” she said. “It would be very hard, but I hope I should have the resolution not to marry you, if he should dislike it very much.”

“In that case,” he retorted, walking to the door, “there will be nothing for it but to abduct you!”

He left her laughing. She went upstairs to find Sidlaw lying in wait for her. Hostility flickered in Sidlaw’s eyes, but she spoke with meticulous civility. “If you please, Miss Kate, may I have a word with you?”

“Certainly! What is it?” Kate said, forcing herself to speak pleasantly.

“I did not venture to intrude on you, miss, when you and Mr Broome were eating a nuncheon, but I should be glad if you would speak to Mrs Thorne, which I do not care to do myself, under the circumstances.”

Repressing an exasperated sigh, Kate asked what she was to speak about, and thereby unleashed a spate of complaints, most of which she judged to be groundless. However, she promised to adjust them; and even to order the chef to make some tapioca jelly, which her ladyship thought she could fancy. She then went to the housekeeper’s room, where she was relieved to find that Mrs Thorne was so far restored to health as to have been able to consume a sustaining meal, the remains qf which were to be seen on a tray. She said that she had been trying to keep up her strength.

It was nearly half an hour later when Kate escaped from her garrulity, and Torquil and the doctor had returned from their expedition. She heard Torquil’s voice in the hall, demanding to be told where she was, and slipped away to her room. It had occurred to her that if she wrote to Sarah, explaining her circumstances, and warning her that she might shortly be arriving in London, Mr Philip Broorne would see her letter safely posted.

Her room contained an elegant little writing-table, furnished, (ironically, Kate thought, remembering the fate of her previous letters) with writing-paper, ink, wafers, a selection of pens, and a knife with which to sharpen them. Kate sat down to write to Sarah. She had meant to have given a full account of the situation at Staplewood, but the ink dried on her pen as she realized that, whatever she might confide to Sarah by word of mouth it would be injudicious—even dangerous—to set the whole story down on paper. So it was quite a short letter that was written, but it contained one piece of news which, Kate guessed, would delight Sarah.

She had been vaguely aware, while she tried to compose her letter, of voices in the garden, and as she wrote the superscription someone ran up the terrace steps, immediately below her window, and Torquil shouted: “Kate! Are you there? Do come down!”

She rose, and went to the window, leaning out to look down into his upturned face. He was smiling, and his eyes sparkled; as soon as he saw her, he said again coaxingly:’

“Do come out, coz! See what I’ve brought from Market Harborough!” He held up a circular metal plate, with a hole in the centre.

“But what is it?” she asked.

“Why, a quoit, of course! Matthew has been showing me how to throw it, and I can tell you it requires a great deal of skill! We’ve paced out the ground, and driven in the iron stakes at either end—” He looked over his shoulder to shout to the doctor: “What did you tell me the stakes are called, Matthew?”

“Take care!” Kate said warningly. “Don’t disturb your mother!”

He looked rather impatient, but said nothing. Dr Delabole, who had come across the lawn to the foot of the steps, said: “Hobs, my boy, hobs! Do you care to try your skill, Miss Kate? It is quite a diverting pastime!” .

She agreed to go down, wondering if Philip had emerged from the East Wing, and hoping that she might be able to snatch a word with him on her way out into the garden. However, there was no sign of him downstairs, so she was obliged to go out with the anxious question in her head unanswered.

The rules of the game were quite simple, the players standing facing one another, by one of the hobs and being provided with an equal number of quoits, which they cast, in turn, at the opposite hob, the object being to throw the quoits as near as possible to the hob.

The doctor offered himself as scorer, but had first to combine this role with that of instructor, Kate never having played the game before, and making a number of wild casts. Torquil, on the other hand, seemed to have a natural aptitude for it, getting the range immediately, and sending his quoits spinning towards the hob with an expert flick of his wrist. He was obviously enjoying himself, intent on improving his skill, and flushing with gratification when the doctor said jovially that he would have to be handicapped.

“I wish he might be!” said Kate fervently.

“Nothing easier!” declared the doctor. “We can extend the range, you know: there is no limit! You shall be allowed to stand halfway, and he shall throw from—what do you say, Torquil? Twenty yards?”

“What is it now?” asked Kate. “It seems more than that to me already!”

“Eighteen,” replied Torquil. He watched her throw the quoit she was holding, and exclaimed: “No, no, don’t hurl it! Use your wrist! Here, let me show you!” He came running up to her, looking just like an eager schoolboy, for he had thrown off his coat, and his neckcloth, and his hair was dishevelled. He grasped her hand, with his strong fingers, and forced her to bend her wrist over. “There! Do you see what I mean?”

She said meekly that she did see what he meant, but doubted her ability to carry out his instructions, adding that she had never before suspected that her wrists were made of tallow. She then caught sight of Philip, who was leaning his arms on the stone parapet of the terrace, watching them, and hailed him with relief, inviting him to take her place.

The instant the words were out of her mouth she knew that the suggestion was unwelcome to Torquil, and realized that he was afraid his cousin would outshine him. Half his pleasure in the sport arose from the applause which greeted his best shots. It was regrettable, but understandable: even pathetic, Kate thought; and wished she had held her tongue.

But Mr Philip Broome said hastily: “No, no, I’m no match for Torquil! I haven’t played quoits for years!”

The cloud vanished from Torquil’s brow. He laughed, and said boastfully: “I have never played before!”

“Doing it too brown, you young gull-catcher!”

“I swear it’s true!” Torquil said, his eyes alight with glee. “Matthew, isn’t it true?”

“I’m afraid it is,” said the doctor, with a lugubrious shake of his head. “There’s no beating you at it!”

“Oh, isn’t there, by Jove?” said Philip. “That puts me on my mettle! Have at you, Jack-sauce! Cousin, if you mean to sit on the steps, sit on my coat!”

He stripped it off, and handed it to her, murmuring, with a reassuring smile: “I shan’t have to abduct you after all!”

She gave him a look of heartfelt relief, but no further words passed between them. He walked away to bargain for a few practice throws, and she carefully folded his coat of Bath superfine, and sat down to watch the contest, at first thinking that Torquil was by far the better player, and then, as Philip’s casts began to improve, coming to the conclusion that he meant Torquil to win, but not easily enough to make him suspicious. Now and again his cast beat Torquil’s, but more often his quoit was found to lie an inch farther from the hob. At the end of the match, Torquil was flushed, and triumphant, very hot, and beginning to be very much excited. He promptly challenged Philip to a return game, and snapped the doctor’s nose off, when that well-meaning but tactless gentleman advised him against over-exertion, repeating the challenge, the sparkle in his eyes hardening to a glitter.

“Tomorrow,” Philip replied.

“I tell you, I’m not tired!”

“You may not be tired, but I am! What’s the time, Doctor?”

The doctor, pulling out his watch, announced that it was nearly half past five, at which Kate sprang up, exclaiming: “As late as that? We shall be late for dinner! For heaven’s sake, don’t start another game!”

“Oh, what the devil does it signify? Mama ain’t coming down!”

“No, but your father means to dine with us, and it won’t do to keep him waiting,” said Philip imperturbably. “Furthermore, I have already had one brush with Gaston, and, I warn you, Torquil, if his sensibilities are wounded again, you shall have the task of applying balm!”

“Gaston? What are you talking about?” asked Torquil impatiently.

“It’s my belief,” said Philip, eyeing his severely, “that you knew all about it, and took care to be well out of the way! See if I don’t give you your own again, that’s all!”

“But I didn’t!” protested Torquil, diverted. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about! I believe you’re hoaxing me I’

He was still hovering on the brink of fury, but his curiosity had been roused, and by the time Philip had regaled him with a highly coloured description of his encounter with the chef, he was laughing again, and had forgotten his determination to play another game of quoits.

He was strumming on the pianoforte at the far end of the Long Drawing-room when Kate next saw him, twenty minutes later, and paid no heed to her. She thought he looked tired, and dispirited, and so, apparently, did Dr Delabole, who was watching him covertly when Kate came into the room, an anxious frown on his forehead. It vanished when he became aware of her entrance, and he got up bowing, and smiling, and handing her to a chair, with the slightly overdone civility which characterized him. Torquil stumbled over a passage, and brought his hands down in a crashing discord, ejaculating savagely: Fool, fool, cowhanded fool! I shall never be first Kate, never!”

He jumped up from the pianoforte, slamming down the lid, and coming with hasty, impetuous strides down the room, just as Sir Timothy entered, leaning on Philip’s arm. For a nerve-racking moment Kate feared that he was going to brush past his father, and fling himself out of the room, but either his cousin’s presence, or Sir Timothy’s gentle voice, bidding him good evening, made him stop in his tracks. He responded awkwardly: “Oh—good evening, sir!” and, after standing undecidedly beside a chair in the middle of the room, sat down, but took no part in the general conversation. This did not augur well for the comfort of the evening, but his temper gradually improved, and he ate what was, for him, a very good dinner. By the time Kate left the dining-room, he had made three spontaneous remarks, and had allowed himself to be drawn into a sporting discussion.

As she walked up the Grand Stairway, Kate wondered how to keep him diverted, and decided that the best plan might be to set out the Fox and Geese. This had amused him on a previous occasion, and might do so again. On the other hand, he might despise it as a child’s game: one never knew with him how long a craze would last. Everything depended on his mood, and tonight this seemed to be uncertain.

But when he came in he was smiling at something Philip seemed to have said to him, and as soon as he saw the Fox and Geese board, exclaimed: “Oh, I’d forgotten that! Look, Philip, do you remember?”

Philip waited until Sir Timothy had lowered himself into his accustomed chair before turning his head towards Torquil. “Look at what?—Good God! You don’t mean to tell me those are the pieces I once made?” he exclaimed incredulously. He walked over to the table, and laughed, picking up one of the lop-sided geese. “Ham-handed, wasn’t I? How in the world have they survived? Do you still play?”

“Oh, no, not for years, until I played with Kate, three or four evenings ago! I thought they had been lost, but she found them at the back of the cabinet over there, and we had a famous battle! I beat her all hollow, and she swore revenge on me. Are you ready to begin, coz?”

“Do say you don’t wish to play, Kate!” begged Philip. “I am persuaded you would liefer talk to my uncle! I shall then offer, very good-naturedly, to play as your deputy. Lord, how it takes me back! I wonder if I remember the rules?”

He sat down as he spoke, and began to set out the seventeen geese. Torquil, who had been inclined to resent his intervention, at once became enthusiastic, and Sir Timothy made an inviting gesture towards a chair near his own.

She had purposely set out the fox and geese on a table towards the other end of the room, and although it was not out of tongue-shot, a low-voiced conversation could be maintained which would neither disturb the players nor be overheard by them. Nevertheless, Kate moved her chair rather closer to Sir Timothy’s, saying, as she sat down: “Philip was right, sir: I have been anxious to talk to you ever since—ever since I knew that he does indeed wish to marry me!”

“But were you in doubt? He must have expressed himself very badly!” said Sir Timothy.

She laughed, blushing a little. “No, but—I wasn’t expecting him to make me an offer, and I was afraid he might regret it. After all, it is only a week since we first met!”

“Are you afraid you might regret it?” he asked, still amused.

“Oh, no, no!”

“Then why should he? He is not at all volatile, you know!” He held out his thin hand, and as she shyly laid her own in it, said softly: “I think you will suit very well, my dear. I’m glad to know that you are going to be happy. I feel sure you will be, both of you.”

“Thank you, sir!” she whispered, fervently squeezing his hand. “As long as you don’t dislike it!—”

“There’s only one thing I dislike about it, and that is that I must lose you. You brought the sunshine to Staplewood, my child! And I fear that when you leave I shan’t see you again. Your aunt won’t make you welcome. It is not I, but she, who will dislike your marriage to Philip. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded, and he continued, sighing faintly: “Philip tells me that you mean to break the news to her yourself. You would oblige me very much, Kate, if you won’t do so while she is still so unwell. She is all unused to having her will crossed, and I am afraid it will upset her very much.”

She replied immediately: “You may be easy on that head, sir: I will do nothing to upset her until she is better. What does Dr Delabole say of her?”

“He went up to see her when we left the dining-room, and has promised to report to me how she goes on. I daresay he will soon be with us, so I will say only one thing more to you, my dear! Whatever your aunt may say to you, let Philip be the judge of what is best for you to do—and be sure that you both take my blessing with you!”