KATIE
“P.S.—I will give you your parcel back to-morrow, and then you can burn the contents yourself, or do what you like with them. Uncle bids me say he shall be glad if you will come and dine to-morrow, and any other day you can spare while I am here.”
When he had read the note, East got up and shook hands heartily with Tom, and then sat down again quietly to finish his cheroot, watching with a humorous look his friend's march.
“And you think it is really all right now?” Tom asked, in one form or another, after every few turns; and East replied in various forms of chaffing assurance that there could not be much further question on the point. At last, when he had finished his cheroot, he got up, and, taking his candle, said, “Good night, Tom; when that revolution comes, which you're always predicting, remember, if you're not shot or hung, you'll always find a roost for you and your wife in New Zealand.”
“I don't feel so sure about the revolution now, Harry.”
“Of course you don't. Mind, I bargain for the dinner in Eaton Square. I always told you I should dine there before I started.”
The next day Tom found that he was not engaged at twelve o'clock, and was able to appear in Eaton Square. He was shown up into the drawing-room, and found Katie alone there. The quiet and coolness of the darkened room was most grateful to him after the glare of the streets, as he sat down by her side.
“But Katie,” he said, as soon as the first salutations and congratulations had passed, “how did it all happen? I can't believe my senses yet. I am afraid I may wake up any minute.”
“Well, it was chiefly owing to two lucky coincidences; though no doubt it would have all come right in time without them.”
“Our meeting the other day in the street, I suppose, was one of them?”
“Yes. Coming across you so suddenly, carrying the little girl, reminded Mary of the day when she sprained her ankle, and you carried her through Hazel Copse. Ah, you never told me all of that adventure, either of you.”
“All that was necessary, Katie.”
“Oh! I have pardoned you. Uncle saw then that she was very much moved at something, and guessed well enough what it was. He is so very kind, and so fond of Mary, he would do anything in the world that she wished. She was quite unwell that evening; so he and aunt had to go out alone; and they met Mr. St. Cloud at a party, who was said to be engaged to her.”
“It wasn't true, then?”
“No, never. He is a very designing man, though I believe he was really in love with poor Mary. At any rate he has persecuted her for more than a year. And, it is very wicked, but I am afraid he spread all those reports himself.”
“Of their engagement? Just like him!”
“Uncle is so good-natured, you know; and he took advantage of it, and was always coming here, and riding with them. And he made Uncle believe dreadful stories about you, which made him seem so unkind. He was quite afraid to have you at the house.”
“Yes, I saw that last year; and the second coincidence?”
“It happened that very night. Poor uncle was very much troubled what to do; so, when he met Mr. St. Cloud, as I told you, he took him aside to ask him again about you. Somehow, a gentleman who was a friend of yours at Oxford overheard what was said, and came forward and explained everything.”
“Yes, he came and told me.”
“Then you know more than I about it.”
“And you think Mr. Porter is convinced that I am not quite such a scamp after all?”
“Yes, indeed; and the boys are so delighted that they will see you again. They are at home for the holidays, and so grown.”
“And Mary?”
“She is very well. You will see her before long, I dare say.”
“Is she at home?”
“She is out riding with uncle. Now I will go up and get your parcel, which I had opened at home before I got aunt's note asking me here. No wonder we could never find her boot.”
Katie disappeared and at the same time Tom thought he heard the sound of horses' feet. Yes, and they had stopped, too. It must be Mary and her father. He could not see because of the blinds and other devices for keeping the room cool. But the next moment there were voices in the hall below, and then a light step on the carpeted stair, which no ear but his could have heard. His heart beat with heavy painful pulsations, and his head swam as the door opened, and Mary in her riding-habit stood in the room.