“Not the celebrity, surely,—the young politician who made such a sensation by a first speech in Parliament t'other day? He's all the rage here. Could it be him?”
“Possibly enough,” said she, carelessly. “He had very good abilities, and knew it.”
“He comes to us occasionally, but I scarcely have any acquaintance with him. But this is not telling me of yourself, child. Who and what are these people you are living with? Do they value my dear Kate as they ought? Are they worthy of having her amongst them?”
“I 'm afraid not,” said Kate, with a smile. “They do not seem at all impressed with the blessing they enjoy, and only treat me as one of themselves.”
“But, seriously, child, are they as kind as they should be? That old lady is, to my thinking, as austere as an Archduchess.”
“I like her,” said Kate; “that is, I like her cold, reserved manner, unbending as it is, which only demands the quiet duties of servitude, and neither asks nor wishes for affection. She admits me to no friendship, but she exacts no attachment.”
“And you like this?”
“I did not say I should like it from you! said Kate, pressing the hand she held fervently to her lips, while her pale cheek grew faintly red.
“And you go into the world with her,—at least her world?”
“She has none here. Too haughty for second-rate society, and unknown to those who form the first class at Paris, she never goes out.”