Honour prevailed entirely above fear and curiosity. Out flew Kate, to the exceeding amaze and discomfiture of the two gentlemen. “No, no, Uncle Giles; it is—it is because I ran away! Aunt Barbara said she would not tell, for if you knew it, you would—you would despise me;—and you,” looking at Lord de la Poer, “would never let me play with Grace and Addy again!”
She covered her face with her hands—it was all burning red; and she was nearly rushing off, but she felt herself lifted tenderly upon a knee, and an arm round her. She thought it her old friend; but behold, it was her uncle’s voice that said, in the softest gentlest way, “My dear, I never despise where I meet with truth. Tell me how it was; or had you rather tell your Aunt Emily?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Kate, all her fears softened by his touch. “Oh no! please don’t go, Lord de la Poer; I do want you to know, for I couldn’t have played with Grace and Adelaide on false pretences!” And encouraged by her uncle’s tender pressure, she murmured out, “I ran away—I did—I went home!”
“To Oldburgh!”
“Yes—yes! It was very wrong; Papa—Uncle Wardour, I mean—made me see it was.”
“And what made you do it?” said her uncle kindly. “Do not be afraid to tell me.”
“It was because I was angry. Aunt Barbara would not let me go to the other Wardours, and wanted me to write a—what I thought—a fashionable falsehood; and when I said it was a lie,” (if possible, Kate here became deeper crimson than she was before,) “she sent me to my room till I would beg her pardon, and write the note. So—so I got out of the house, and took a cab, and went home by the train. I didn’t know it was so very dreadful a thing, or indeed I would not.”
And Kate hid her burning face on her uncle’s breast, and was considerably startled by what she heard next, from the Marquis.
“Hm! All I have to say is, that if Barbara had the keeping of me, I should run away at the end of a week.”
“Probably!” and Lord de la Poer saw, what Kate did not, the first shadow of a smile on the face of his friend, as he pressed his arm round the still trembling girl; “but, you see, Barbara justly thinks you corrupt youth.—My little girl, you must not let him make you think lightly of this—”