Their talk was continually of lovers; Catherine did not notice this, as it seemed natural enough to her. To have lovers was not only natural but the most exciting possibility; it was all part of the glorious business of growing up, and now Catherine longed to be grownup.
She still thought of Thomas Culpepper, but she could only with difficulty remember what he looked like. She still dreamed that he rode out to Horsham and told her they were to elope together, but his face, which for so long had been blurred in her mind, now began to take on the shape of Henry Manox. She looked forward to her lessons; the most exciting moment of her days was when she went down to the Duchess’s room and found him there; she was always terrified that he would not be there, that her grandmother had decided to find her a new teacher; she looked forward with gleeful anticipation to those spasmodic snores of the Duchess which set both her and Manox giggling, and made his eyes become more bold.
As he sat very close to her, his long musician’s fingers would come to rest on her knee, tapping tightly that she might keep in time. The Duchess nodded; her head shook; then she would awake startled and look round her defiantly, as though to deny the obvious fact that she had dozed.
There was one day, some weeks after the first lesson, which was a perfect day, with spring in the sunshine filtering through the window, in the songs of the birds in the trees outside it, in Catherine’s heart and in Manox’s eyes.
He whispered: “Catherine! I think of you constantly.”
“Have I improved so much then?”
“Not of your music, but of you, Catherine . . . of you.”
“I wonder why you should think constantly of me.”
“Because you are very sweet.”
“Am I?” said Catherine.
“And not such a child as you would seem!”
“No,” said Catherine. “Sometimes I think I am very grown-up.”
He laid his delicate hands on the faint outline of her breasts.
“Yes, Catherine, I think so too. It is very sweet to be grown-up, Catherine. When you are a woman you will wonder how you could ever have borne your childhood.”
“Yes,” said Catherine, “I believe that. I have had some unhappy times in my childhood; my mother died, and then I went to Hollingbourne, and just when I was beginning to love my life there, that was over.”
“Do not look so sad, sweet Catherine! Tell me, you are not sad, are you?”
“Not now,” she said.
He kissed her cheek.
He said: “I would like to kiss your lips.”
He did this, and she was astonished by the kiss, which was different from those Thomas had given her. Catherine was stirred; she kissed him.
“I have never been so happy!” he said.
They were both too absorbed in each other to listen for the Duchess’s snores and heavy breathing; she awoke suddenly, and hearing no music, looked towards them.
“Chatter, chatter, chatter!” she said. “I declare! Is this a music lesson!”
Catherine began to play, stumbling badly.
The Duchess yawned; her foot began to tap; in five minutes she was asleep again.
“Do you think she saw us kiss?” whispered Catherine.
“Indeed I do not!” said Manox, and he meant that, for he well knew that if she had he would have been immediately turned out, possibly dismissed from the house; and Mistress Catherine would have received a sound beating.
Catherine shivered ecstatically.
“I am terrified that she might, and will stop the lessons.”
“You would care greatly about that?”
Catherine turned candid eyes upon him. “I should care very much!” she said. She was vulnerable because her mind was that of a child, though her body was becoming that of a woman; and the one being so advanced, the other somewhat backward, it was her body which was in command of Catherine. She liked the proximity of this man; she liked his kisses. She told him so in many ways; and he, being without scruples, found the situation too novel and too exciting not to be exploited.
He was rash in his excitement, taking her in his arms before the sleeping Duchess and kissing her lips. Catherine lifted her face eagerly, as a flower will turn towards the sun.
The Duchess was sleeping, when there was a faint tap on the door and Isabel entered. The lesson had extended beyond its appointed time, and she, eager to see the teacher and pupil together, had an excuse ready for intruding. Isabel stood on the threshold, taking in the scene—the sleeping Duchess, the young man, his face very pale, his eyes very bright; Catherine, hair in some disorder, her eyes wide, her lips parted, and with a red mark on her chin. Where he has kissed her, the knave! thought Isabel.
The Duchess awoke with a start.
“Come in! Come in!” she called, seeing Isabel at the door.
Isabel approached and spoke to the Duchess. Catherine rose, and so did Manox.
