Here was Bruton Street; here the door that on Saturday had shut behind her! It was only too soon open, and Kate kept her eyes on the ground, ashamed that even the butler should see her. She hung back, waiting till Mr. Wardour had paid the cabman; but there was no spinning it out, she had to walk upstairs, her only comfort being that her hand was in his.
No one was in the drawing-room; but before long Lady Barbara came in. Kate durst not look up at her, but was sure, from the tone of her voice, that she must have her very sternest face; and there was something to make one shiver in the rustle of her silk dress as she curtsied to Mr. Wardour.
“I have brought home my little niece,” he said, drawing Kate forward; “and I think I may truly say, that she is very sorry for what has passed.”
There was a pause; Kate knew the terrible black eyes were upon her, but she felt, besides, the longing to speak out the truth, and a sense that with Papa by her side she had courage to do so.
“I am sorry, Aunt Barbara,” she said; “I was very self-willed; I ought not to have fancied things, nor said you used me ill, and wanted me to tell stories.”
Kate’s heart was lighter; though it beat so terribly as she said those words. She knew that they pleased one of the two who were present, and she knew they were right.
“It is well you should be so far sensible of your misconduct,” said Lady Barbara; but her voice was as dry and hard as ever, and Mr. Wardour added, “She is sincerely sorry; it is from her voluntary confession that I know how much trouble she has given you; and I think, if you will kindly forgive her, that you will find her less self-willed in future.”
And he shoved Kate a little forward, squeezing her hand, and trying to withdraw his own. She perceived that he meant that she ought to ask pardon; and though it went against her more than her first speech had done, she contrived to say, “I do beg pardon, Aunt Barbara; I will try to do better.”
“My pardon is one thing, Katharine,” said Lady Barbara. “If your sorrow is real, of course I forgive you;” and she took Kate’s right-hand—the left was still holding by the fingers’ ends to Mr. Wardour. “But the consequences of such behaviour are another consideration. My personal pardon cannot, and ought not, to avert them—as I am sure you must perceive, Mr. Wardour,” she added, as the frightened child retreated upon him. Those consequences of Aunt Barbara’s were fearful things! Mr. Wardour said something, to which Kate scarcely attended in her alarm, and her aunt went on—
“For Lady Caergwent’s own sake, I shall endeavour to keep this most unfortunate step as much a secret as possible. I believe that scarcely anyone beyond this house is aware of it; and I hope that your family will perceive the necessity of being equally cautious.”