Scarcely had Molly left the room than a light tap came to the door, and a weak voice asked:
“May I come in?”
Kate hastened to open it, but she was anticipated, and her uncle slowly entered, and stood before her.
“My dear, dear uncle,” cried she, taking his hand, and pressing it to her lips.
He pressed her in his arms, and kissed her forehead twice, and then, with a hand on either shoulder, held her for a moment at arms’ length, while he looked at her. Hers was not a nature to flinch under such a scrutiny, and yet she blushed at last under the steadiness of his gaze.
“Let us sit down,” said he, at length; and he handed her to a seat with much courtesy. “Had I seen you, Miss Luttrell——”
“Oh, Sir, say Kate—call me Kate,” cried she, eagerly.
“Had I seen you before, Kate,” continued he—and there was a touch of feeling as he spoke the name—“I do not think I could have dared to ask you to come here!”
“Oh, dear uncle! have I so disappointed you?”
“You have amazed me, Kate. I was not prepared to see you as you are. I speak not of your beauty, my child; I was prepared for that. It is your air, your bearing, that look, that reminds me of long, long ago. It is years since I saw a lady, my dear Kate, and the sight of you has brought up memories I had believed were dead and buried.”