"Miss Kitty, I am in great trouble. Nearly three hours ago I volunteered to hurry down to the levee with a letter that Major Vinton had for Mr. Amory, but Mr. Amory and I missed each other, have missed each other ever since. He has gone somewhere with his mother, and yet must be back in time for the review, but I felt certain that letter ought to get to him at once. Yet you know they do not sail until to-morrow, do you not?"
Her head was averted, her slight form was quivering and trembling, her bosom heaving violently in the effort to control the sob that, despite all struggles, burst from her lips. She had been waiting for him all the morning. In another moment, for all answer, she had thrown herself upon the sofa, and was weeping in a wild passion of unrestrained misery. Poor little motherless Kit! and this was my doing.
In vain I strove to soothe her. In vain I protested that the letter would soon be in his hands, that no possible harm could come from the delay. Nay, in my eagerness and ludicrous distress I believe I knelt and strove to draw her hands away from her face. Then she hurriedly arose, rushed to the window, and leaning her arms upon the casement, and bowing her pretty head upon her hands, sobbed wildly. Good heavens! what could such an old idiot do? I was powerless, helpless, wretched.
Suddenly there came a springy step along the lower passage, a quick, bounding footfall on the stair, the clink of spurred heels upon the matting in the hall, and Frank Amory, with a world of sunshine in his glad young face, stood at the doorway. One glance showed him where she stood, still weeping piteously, still blind to his presence. One spring took him half across the room, one second to her side. I heard but one quick, low-toned, almost ecstatic cry.
"Kitty! darling! Forgive me!"
I saw his arms enfold her. I saw her raise her head, startled, amazed. Saw one wondering flash of light and joy in the tear-dimmed eyes, but of what happened next I have no knowledge, not even conjecture. For once in his life Mr. Brandon had the decency not to look, the sagacity to know that he was no longer needed, if indeed he ever had been, and the presence of mind to take himself off.
CHAPTER XIX.
Later that lovely afternoon an open carriage whirled up St. Charles Street towards old Tivoli Circle. Its occupants were Miss Summers and Kitty Carrington, Colonel Summers and myself. At the Circle we were joined by another, in which were seated Mrs. Amory, Madame R——, and Major Vinton. We were late, it seems, and the review had already begun, so there was no time for conversation between the carriage-loads; but smiles and nods and waving hands conveyed cheery greeting, and Kitty's cheeks flamed; her eyes, half veiled as though in shy emotion, followed Mrs. Amory's kindly face until their carriage fell behind; then, detecting me as usual in my occupation of watching her, she colored still more vividly, and looking bravely, saucily up into my face, remarked,—
"Well, Mr. Brandon, have you nothing to say to me? Are you aware that you have not even remarked upon the beauty of the weather this afternoon?"