“Have some pâté, Kitty,” urged Regy, as I rose and took my gloves from my pocket.
“No, thank you, Regy.”
“Well, have some fruit. These are early nectarines—the first of the season.”
“No, I have finished, thank you; and I do think, Regy, we ought to be going. Mother will be getting very anxious about me,” I pleaded earnestly. “I am sorry I came now I see how long we have been.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Kitty; it has been the very jolliest morning I ever spent. But I’ll have the horses round at once.”
He had them round, and we left the room together. On our way out we passed a group of gentlemen; and one of them, moving backwards, brushed against me, and apologised. Something in his voice was familiar to me, but I was too much preoccupied with my hurry to get out of doors to think about it until afterwards. When I found myself once more in the open air, I was easy in my mind again. I enjoyed the drive home, though the afternoon was warm and bright and I had no sunshade to soften the glare on my head. I did not drive now; I sat at my ease, and looked at the people we passed, and at the carriages, which, as we drew nearer London, seemed to be setting in the direction of Richmond like a tide. Regy was rather silent, and took out his watch now and then.
“I hope you won’t get into disgrace, Kitty,” he said, at last, when we were once more in the neighbourhood of his paternal roof.
“Why should I?” I asked; and I thought he took rather a liberty when he made the suggestion.
“If I were you,” he went on, “I wouldn’t say anything about the Star and Garter, Kitty; we’ll keep that dark, shall we?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, proudly, lifting my head in the air. But I felt that I was one tingling blush to the very soles of my feet.