“But she would—she would like to do so?”
“I 'm sure she would.”
“Then mamma shall visit her. You know she is everything here; her house is the rendezvous of all the distinguished people, and, once seen in her salons, my Lady—how do you call her?”
“Lady Dorothea Martin.”
“I can't repeat it—but no matter—her Ladyship shall not want for attentions. Perhaps she would condescend to come to me on Wednesday? Dare I venture to ask her?”
Kate hesitated, and the Duchess quickly rejoined,—“No, dearest, you are quite right; it would be hazardous, too abrupt, too unceremonious. You will, however, be with us; and I long to present you to all my friends, and show them one to whom I owe so much, and ought to be indebted to for far more. I 'll send for you early, that we may have a long morning together.” And so saying, she arose to take leave.
“I feel as though I 'll scarcely believe I had seen you when you have gone,” said Kate, earnestly. “I'll fancy it all a dream—or rather, that my life since we met has been one, and that we had never parted.”
“Were we not very happy then, Kate?” said the Duchess, with a half-sigh; “happier, perhaps, than we may ever be again.”
“You must not say so, at all events,” said Kate, once more embracing her. And they parted.
Kate arose and watched the splendid equipage as it drove away, and then slowly returned to her place at the work-table. She did not, however, resume her embroidery, but sat deep in reflection, with her hands clasped before her.