“Dearie me, Giles,” said Mrs. Medlicot.
Kate remained no longer half in and half out of the parlor, but retreated altogether and hid herself. Harry turned himself over on the rug, and looked up at his wife, claiming infinite credit in that he had foreseen that such a thing might happen.
“And what answer has she given you?” said Mrs. Heathcote.
“She hasn’t given me any answer yet. I wonder what you and Heathcote would say about it?”
“What Kate has to say is much more important,” replied the discreet sister.
“I should like it of all things,” said Harry, jumping up. “It’s always best to be open about these things. When you first came here, I didn’t like you. You took a bit of my river frontage—not that it does me any great harm—and then I was angry about that scoundrel Nokes.”
“I was wrong about Nokes,” said Medlicot, “and have, therefore, had my collar-bone broken. As to the land, you’ll forgive my having it if Kate will come and live there?”
“By George! I should think so.—Kate, why don’t you come out? Come along, my girl. Medlicot has spoken out openly, and you should answer him in the same fashion.” So saying, he dragged her forth, and I fear that, as far as she was concerned, something of the sweetness of her courtship was lost by the publicity with which she was forced to confess her love. “Will you go, Kate, and make sugar down at the mill? I have often thought how bad it would be for Mary and me when you were taken away; but we sha’n’t mind it so much if we knew that you are to be near us.”
“Speak to him, Kate,” said Mrs. Heathcote, with her arm round her sister’s waist.
“I think she’s minded to have him,” said Mrs. Medlicot.