“Confound me if I can fathom it at all!” said he, more distracted than ever. “If you are alluding to the offer I made you—”
“The offer you made,” cried Lady Dorothea. “When?—how?—in what wise?”
“No, no, I will speak out,” said he, addressing Kate. “I am certain you never divulged it; but I cannot accept that all the honorable dealing should be on one side only. Yes, my Lady, however you learned it, I cannot guess, but it is perfectly true; I asked Miss Henderson to be my wife, and she refused me.”
A low, faint sigh broke from Lady Dorothea, and she fell back into her chair.
“She would have it,—it's not my fault,—you are witness it's not,” muttered he to Kate. But she motioned him in silence to the door, and then opening the window, that the fresh air might enter, stood silently beside the chair.
A slight shivering shook her; and Lady Dorothea—her cheeks almost lividly pale—raised her eyes and fixed them on Kate Henderson.
“You have had your triumph!” said she, in a low but firm voice.
“I do not feel it such, madam,” said Kate, calmly. “Nor is it in a moment of humiliation like this that a thought of triumph can enter.”
“Hear me,—stoop down lower. You can leave this—tomorrow, if you wish it.”
Kate bowed slowly in acquiescence.