Cousin Kate

opportunity to study his profile. He had regular features, and a well-shaped head, and was generally held to be passably good-looking. Kate decided that he was a very handsome man: not, of course, as handsome as Torquil, but far more virile. His was a strong face, and if his mouth was stern, and his eyes very keen and hard, she knew that his smile was unexpectedly attractive, wanning his eyes, and softening the lines about his mouth. He might be inflexible, but it was impossible to suspect him of being unscrupulous.

He raised his head, turning it slightly to look at Kate. He was not smiling, but although his eyes were searching they were kind. He repeated: “What troubles you, Kate?”

“My dear sir, nothing!”

“No, don’t try to hoax me! What has happened to put you in a worry?”

“Merely a small, private matter, sir.”

“That’s taught me to mind my own business,” he observed.

She could not help laughing. “I wish it may have done so! The truth is that I’m confronted with a problem, and haven’t made up my mind how to settle it.”

“Perhaps I can help you.”

“Thank you, I don’t require help!”

He hesitated. “Or advice? Mine is that you should leave this place.”

This made her remember that she had a crow to pluck with him. She stiffened, and her eyes flashed a challenge. “Why, sir?” she demanded.

Again he hesitated, before saying: “Do you recall that I warned you yesterday that you might be required to make what I believe would be a sacrifice, in return for the benefits bestowed on you?”

“Very clearly! And you meant, did you not, that my aunt might propose to me that I should marry Torquil?” She waited for his answer, and, when he nodded, swept on, in a voice vibrant with wrath: “And when you came here, and—and looked at me as if I were a—a designing trollop, you believed I was in a string with my aunt! Didn’t you?”

He smiled ruefully. “Yes, I did. I beg your pardon! Does it mitigate the offence when I assure you that I very soon learned that I had misjudged you?”

It did, of course, but she saw no reason why she should forgive him so easily, or deny herself the satisfaction of raking him down, so she evaded this question, and gave him a rare trimming. He bore it meekly, but with such an appreciative twinkle in his eye that she was goaded into saying: “And if you had been within my reach, sir, when I realized what you thought of me, I would have boxed your ears!”

“Most understandable!” he said sympathetically. “But I am within your reach now, so if you would like to box my ears, pray do so! I won’t attempt to defend myself.”

“There is nothing I should like more,” she assured him, “but I hope I have too much propriety of taste to allow myself to be carried away by indignation!”

“I was hoping that too. But don’t you mean too much sense of justice? It was very bad of me, but you must remember that I’d never met you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have prejudged me!” she said severely.

“I know I shouldn’t. I hope it may be a lesson to me.”

“So do I, but I doubt it!” she retorted, trying not to laugh. However, having discharged her spleen, her natural good humour reasserted itself, and she did laugh, and said candidly: “As a matter of fact, when I came to think it over, I did perceive that there was a good deal of excuse for you. It must have looked as if I were trying to lure Torquil into matrimony. The thing was that it never entered my head that I ought to hold him at a distance, because he is only a schoolboy, and I am years older than he is. And my aunt told me that he lacked young companionship, which indeed he does, poor boy! To own the truth, sir, I am excessively sorry for him.”

He looked at her, an arrested expression in his eyes. “Are you?”

“Well, of course I am! Are not you?”

“I am very sorry for him,” he agreed.

She thought he sounded indifferent, and suspected that he had no liking for Torquil. “I know you don’t think so,” she said, “but I believe he would be very much better if he were not cooped up here. It seems to me quite shocking!”

“Does it?”

“Yes, it does! My aunt believes that London would knock him up, and dreads his being ill. I fancy she is afraid he would go the pace too fast, and commit some extravagant folly, through being so excitable. I expect she is quite right, because he’s green, and would be bound to hob-nob with the sort of young man who is always ripe for a spree: I daresay you know what I mean?”

“Choice spirits,” he said, with the glimmer of a smile.

“Is that what they are called? Well, I do see that that might be dangerous, and I perfectly understand my aunt’s anxiety. But what I do not understand is why he must be kept at Staplewood the whole time, and never permitted to go anywhere! One would have supposed that my aunt would have wished to try if one of the watering-places might not be of benefit to him, but—” She stopped, and said, in a conscience-stricken tone: “I didn’t mean to say that. I know I should not.”

“Are you afraid I might tell Minerva? I shan’t.”

“No, but I shouldn’t criticize her.”

“On the contrary! You should—and, in fact, you do!”

“Yes,” she confessed. “I can’t help doing so, but I feel it’s ungrateful, because she has been so kind to me.”

“Are you fond of her?” he asked abruptly.

She began to plait her fringe again, and did not answer immediately, but when he laid his hand over her unquiet ones, checking her, she looked up, and said, with an embarrassed flush: “Oh, dear! was I at that again? No, I’m afraid I’m not fond of her. Not very fond of her, that is! I don’t know why, because she seems to be fond of me, and in general, you know—”

“Seems?” he interrupted, keeping his hand over hers.

She met his eyes, a little shyly, and found that they were smiling, inviting confidence. Without knowing why she did so, she said impulsively: “I don’t think she’s fond of anyone! It makes me far from easy. I can’t explain!”

“You need not: I know what you mean. Minerva has overwhelmed you with gifts—you called her generosity crushing, but you wouldn’t feel crushed if you believed she held you in affection, would you?”

“Ah, you do understand! I should be grateful, but not crushed!” She sighed, and said ruefully: “I thought there was nothing I wouldn’t do to show my gratitude, but I can’t marry Torquil! It is quite out of the question. When my aunt suggested it to me, I thought she must be out of her mind!”

It was a moment or two before he answered her. He began to speak, and then shut his mouth hard, as though he were exercising considerable restraint. Finally, he said, in a brusque voice: “No. Obsessed!”

She nodded. “I know that: Staplewood and the succession! But that’s not it!”

“You are mistaken.”

“No, I don’t think I am. She seems to be determined to keep Torquil under her thumb: not just now, but always! And I fancy she believes that if he married me she could do it, that I shouldn’t interfere, or try to take him away, or—or usurp her position.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“It is a shocking thing to think of anyone, but what else can I think?” said Kate. “You see, my father told me how very ambitious she is, so I supposed that she must be hoping that Torquil would make a splendid match. But, of course, if he married a girl of the first stare it is not to be expected that she could keep her here, in—in subjection, is it? Well, even if the girl were willing to allow my aunt to rule the roost, she might not be willing to be buried here all the year round!”

“Most unlikely. But there is more to it than that, Kate: such a girl would not be, as you are, alone in the world. She would have parents, perhaps brothers and sisters, certainly more distant relations—uncles, aunts, cousins.”

“If it comes to that,” said Kate, “I have distant relations too! I am not acquainted with them, but—”