Mother had a suspicion of what was going on, but she held her tongue and made no sign. She kissed me as usual when I went to bed, and when I got up in the morning, and then went about her preparations as busily as before. Father was silent and preoccupied, and extremely affectionate and gentle to me, and his manner led me to believe that she had given him an idea of what Tom was probably coming for, and that he was thinking about it. But I dared not say or do anything to provoke him to disclose his thoughts.
Luncheon was late to-day for some reason, and we did not rise from table until nearly three o’clock. As soon as I could escape, I went to my own room and locked the door, and tried to straighten my somewhat untidy drawers and cupboards, while I impatiently waited to know my fate. I heard Tom open and shut the gate, and heard his long stride over the gravel, his leap up the verandah steps, and his peculiar authoritative knock at the front door. I heard Bridget ask him into the drawing-room; I heard father go in after him and close the door; and, two minutes later, mother’s dress rustled up the hall, and she, too, followed them, and softly shut herself in. I left the door of my wardrobe open, with all manner of garments tumbling off the shelves; and I flung myself on my knees by the bedside, and prayed that things might be permitted to go well for us—by which I meant, of course, the way we wanted them to go.
I stayed on my knees I can’t tell how long, after my prayer was done, listening; and I heard no sound. Then I got up, washed my face and hands, and raged round and round the room, making handcuffs of the towel. Then I stole into the passage; then I stole back again; and then I snatched up my hat, and ran out through the garden into the paddock, where I took up my post under an overhanging acacia hedge to wait for my lover’s coming. I sat here so long that I was afraid I had missed him, which dreadful thought prompted me to run back, post haste, to the house. Meeting Bridget in a passage, I breathlessly inquired if Mr. Smith was gone; and Bridget smirked in a confidential manner, and said, “No, miss, not yet.” Whereupon I again shut myself into my bedroom, with the door ajar, and felt that if this sort of thing went on much longer I should have to invade the presence-chamber myself.
At last mother came out, and, by the sound of her dress, I knew she was approaching my citadel. I held my breath while she paused and tapped at the door. “Kitty, my dear, are you here?”
I flung out of the room then, and threw myself into her arms. “Oh, mother, mother, tell me! What does father say?” I cried, with almost hysterical excitement. “Is it all right for Tom and me?”
“Tom has asked to be allowed to tell you about it himself,” she replied gently, but with a tremor in her voice. “You may go to him, Kitty; he is in the drawing-room, waiting for you. I can trust you both.”
“Trust us!” I echoed, puzzled at the bare idea of such a thing.
“My dear,” mother went on, very earnestly and lovingly, with an appealing look in her soft eyes, “if you don’t find things quite as you wish, you must remember that your father and I have done what is best for you. We know what is good for you better than you can know yourself.” A vague chill struck me as she spoke, and I begged her to tell me, in plain words, what had been settled.
“No; go and talk to Tom,” she said; “he will explain everything. I will give you half an hour to yourselves.”
I broke away from her at once, and ran to the drawing-room, and shut the door after me. Tom was standing with his back to a table, and supporting himself on it, with his hands behind him, gazing out of the window with such a sad and thoughtful look in his face as I had never seen before. He turned when he heard me, and I ran into his arms and laid my head on his shoulder, passionately determined that nothing should ever part us, if I could help it.