Self-worship was too strong in him to suffer a single doubt as to his own capacity for success, and therefore the only solution to the mystery of her manner was its being an artful scheme, which time and a little watching would surely explain. Time went on, and yet he grew none the wiser; Kate continued the same impassive creature as at first. She never sought,—never avoided him. She met him without constraint,—without pleasure, too. They never became intimate, while there was no distance in their intercourse; till at last, wounded in his self-esteem, he began to feel that discomfort in her presence which only waits for the slightest provocation to become actual dislike.
With that peevishness that belongs to small minds, he would have been glad to have discovered some good ground for hating her; and a dozen times a day did he fancy that he had “hit the blot,” but somehow he always detected his mistake erelong; and thus did he live on in that tantalizing state of uncertainty and indecision which combines about as much suffering as men of his stamp are capable of feeling.
If Lady Dorothea never suspected the degree of influence Kate silently exercised over her, the Captain saw it palpably, and tried to nourish the knowledge into a ground for dislike. But somehow she would no more suffer herself to be hated than to be loved, and invariably baffled all his attempts to “get up” an indignation against her. By numberless devices—too slight, too evanescent to be called regular coquetry—she understood how to conciliate him, even in his roughest moods, while she had only to make the very least possible display of her attractions to fascinate him in his happier moments. The gallant hussar was not much given to self-examination. It was one of the last positions he would have selected; and yet he had confessed to his own heart that, though he 'd not like to marry her himself, he 'd be sorely tempted to shoot any man who made her his wife.
Lady Dorothea and Kate Henderson were seated one morning engaged in the very important task of revising the invitation-book,—weeding out the names of departed acquaintance, and canvassing the claims of those who should succeed them. The rigid criticism as to eligibility showed how great an honor was the card for her Ladyship's “Tea.” While they were thus occupied, Captain Martin entered the room with an open letter in his hand, his air and manner indicating flurry, if not actual agitation.
“Sorry to interrupt a privy council,” said he, “but I've come to ask a favor,—don't look frightened; it's not for a woman, my Lady,—but I want a card for your next Saturday, for a male friend of mine.”
“Kate has just been telling me that 'our men' are too numerous.”
“Impossible. Miss Henderson knows better than any one that the success of these things depends on having a host of men,—all ages, all classes, all sorts of people,” said he, indolently.
“I think we have complied with your theory,” said she, pointing to the book before her. “If our ladies are chosen for their real qualities, the men have been accepted with a most generous forbearance.”
“One more, then, will not damage the mixture.”
“Of course, Captain Martin, it is quite sufficient that he is a friend of yours—that you wish it—”