“Her Ladyship, Miss Henderson,” said a servant, throwing wide the door, and closing it after the entrance of Lady Dorothea, who swept into the room in her haughtiest of moods, and seated herself with all that preparation that betokened a visit of importance.
“Take a seat, Miss Henderson,” said she. And Kate obeyed in silence. “If in the course of what I shall have to say to you,” resumed her Ladyship,—“if in what I shall feel it my duty to say to you, I may be betrayed into any expression stronger than in a calmer moment would occur to me,—stronger in fact, than strict justice might warrant—”
“I beg your Ladyship's pardon if I interrupt, but I would beg to remark—”
“What?” said Lady Dorothea, proudly.
“That simply your Ladyship's present caution is the best security for future propriety. I ask no other.”
“You presume too far, young lady. I cannot answer that my temper may not reveal sentiments that my judgment or my breeding might prefer to keep in abeyance.”
“If the sentiments be there, my Lady, I should certainly say, better to avow them,” said Kate, with an air of most impassive coldness.
“I 'm not aware that I have asked your advice on that head, Miss Henderson,” said she, almost insolently. “At the same time, your habits of late in this family may have suggested the delusion.”
“Will your Ladyship pardon me if I confess I do not understand you?”
“You shall have little to complain of on that score, Miss Henderson; I shall not speak in riddles, depend upon it. Nor should that be an obstacle if your intelligence were only the equal of your ambition.”