forgave.
By the time she had smoothed out her sheet, and settled matters between it and her blanket, she had begun to think more coolly. 'No, no, I won't. It would be horribly dishonourable and all that to tell Aunt Barbara. Josephine was only thinking out loud; and she can't help what she thinks. I was very naughty; no wonder she thought so. Only next time she pets me, I will say to her, 'You cannot deceive me, Josephine; I like the plain truth better than honeyed words.''
And now that Kate had arrived at the composition of a fine speech that would never be made, it was plain that her mind was pretty well composed. That little bit of forgiveness, though it had not even cost an effort, had been softening, soothing, refreshing; it had brought peacefulness; and Kate lay, not absolutely asleep, but half dreaming, in the summer twilight, in the soft undefined fancies of one tired out with agitation.
She was partly roused by the various sounds in the house, but not startled--the light nights of summer always diminished her alarms; and she heard the clocks strike, and the bell ring for prayers, the doors open and shut, all mixed in with her hazy fancies. At last came the silken rustlings up the stairs again, and the openings of bed-room doors close to her.
Kate must have gone quite to sleep, for she did not know when the door was opened, and how the soft voices had come in that she heard over her.
'Poor little dear! How she has tossed her bed about! I wonder if we could set the clothes straight without wakening her.'
How very sweet and gentle Aunt Jane's voice was in that low cautious whisper.
Some one--and Kate knew the peculiar sound of Mrs. Lacy's crape--was moving the bed-clothes as gently as she could.
'Poor little dear!' again said Lady Jane; 'it is very sad to see a child who has cried herself to sleep. I do wish we could manage her better. Do you think the child is happy?' she ended by asking in a wistful voice.
'She has very high spirits,' was the answer.
'Ah, yes! her impetuosity; it is her misfortune, poor child! Barbara is so calm and resolute, that--that--' Was Lady Jane really going to regret anything in her sister? She did not say it, however; but Kate heard her sigh, and add, 'Ah, well! if I were stronger, perhaps we could make her happier; but I am so nervous. I must try not to look distressed when her spirits do break out, for perhaps it is only natural. And I am so sorry to have brought all this on her, and spoilt those poor children's pleasure!'
Lady Jane bent over the child, and Kate reared herself up on a sudden, threw her arms round her neck, and whispered, 'Aunt Jane, dear Aunt Jane, I'll try never to frighten you again! I am so sorry.'
'There, there; have I waked you? Don't, my dear; your aunt will hear. Go to sleep again. Yes, do.'
But Aunt Jane was kissing and fondling all the time; and the end of this sad naughty evening was, that Kate went to sleep with more softness, love, and repentance in her heart, than there had been since her coming to Bruton Street.
CHAPTER VII.
Lady Caergwent was thoroughly ashamed and bumbled by that unhappy evening. She looked so melancholy and subdued in the morning, with her heavy eyelids and inflamed eyes, and moved so meekly and sadly, without daring to look up, that Lady Barbara quite pitied her, and said--more kindly than she had ever spoken to her before:
'I see you are sorry for the exposure last night, so we will say no more about it. I will try to forget it. I hope our friends may.'
That hope sounded very much like 'I do not think they will;' and truly Kate felt that it was not in the nature of things that they ever should. She should never have forgotten the sight of a little girl in that frenzy of passion! No, she was sure that their mamma and papa knew all about it, and that she should never be allowed to play with them again, and she could not even wish to meet them, she should be miserably ashamed, and would not know which way to look.
She said not one word about meeting them, and for the first day or two even begged to walk in the square instead of the park; and she was so good and steady with her lessons, and so quiet in her movements, that she scarcely met a word of blame for a whole week.
One morning, while she was at breakfast with Lady Barbara and Mrs. Lacy, the unwonted sound of a carriage stopping, and of a double knock, was heard. In a moment the colour flushed into Lady Barbara's face, and her eyes lighted: then it passed away into a look of sadness. It had seemed to her for a moment as if the bright young nephew who had been the light and hope of her life, were going to look in on her; and it had only brought the remembrance that he was gone for ever, and that in his stead there was only the poor little girl, to whom rank was a misfortune, and who seemed as if she would never wear it becomingly. Kate saw nothing of all this; she was only eager and envious for some change and variety in these long dull days. It was Lord de la Poer and his daughter Adelaide, who the next moment were in the room; and she remembered instantly that she had heard that this was to be Adelaide's birthday, and wished her many happy returns in all due form, her heart beating the while with increasing hope that the visit concerned herself.
And did it not? Her head swam round with delight and suspense, and she could hardly gather up the sense of the words in which Lord de la Poer was telling Lady Barbara that Adelaide's birthday was to be spent at the Crystal Palace at Sydenham; that the other girls were gone to the station with their mother, and that he had come round with Adelaide to carry off Kate, and meet the rest at ten o'clock. Lady de la Poer would have written, but it had only boon settled that morning on finding that he could spare the day.
Kate squeezed Adelaide's hand in an agony. Oh! would that aunt let her go?
'You would like to come?' asked Lord de la Poer, bending his pleasant eyes on her. 'Have you ever been there?'
'Never! Oh, thank you! I should like it so much! I never saw any exhibition at all, except once the Gigantic Cabbage!--May I go, Aunt Barbara?'
'Really you are very kind, after--'
'Oh, we never think of AFTERS on birthdays!--Do we, Addie?'
'If you are so very good, perhaps Mrs. Lacy will kindly bring her to meet you.'
'I am sure,' said he, turning courteously to that lady, 'that we should be very sorry to give Mrs. Lacy so much trouble. If this is to be a holiday to everyone, I am sure you would prefer the quiet day.'
No one could look at the sad face and widow's cap without feeling that so it must be, even without the embarrassed 'Thank you, my Lord, if--'
'If--if Katharine were more to be trusted,' began Lady Barbara.
'Now, Barbara,' he said in a drolly serious fashion, 'if you think the Court of Chancery would seriously object, say so at once.'
Lady Barbara could not keep the corners of her mouth quite stiff, but she still said, 'You do not know what you are undertaking.'
'Do you deliberately tell me that you think myself and Fanny, to say nothing of young Fanny, who is the wisest of us all, unfit to be trusted with this one young lady?' said he, looking her full in the face, and putting on a most comical air: 'It is humiliating, I own.'
'Ah! if Katharine were like your own daughters, I should have no fears,' said the aunt. 'But--However, since you are so good--if she will promise to be very careful--'
'Oh yes, yes, Aunt Barbara!'
'I make myself responsible,' said Lord de la Poer. 'Now, young woman, run off and get the hat; we have no time to lose.'
Kate darted off and galloped up the stairs at a furious pace, shouted 'Josephine' at the top; and then, receiving no answer, pulled the bell violently; after which she turned round, and obliged Adelaide with a species of dancing hug, rather to the detriment of that young lady's muslin jacket.
'I was afraid to look back before,' she breathlessly said, as she released Adelaide; 'I felt as if your papa were Orpheus, when
