“Oh, at Oldburgh, Uncle Giles!”
“You are older now,” he answered, “and need not be so childish.”
“And please one thing—”
“Well—”
There came a great choking in her throat, but she did get it out. “Please, please, don’t think all I do wrong is the Wardours’ fault! I know I am naughty and horrid and unladylike, but it is my own own fault, indeed it is, and nobody else’s! Mary and Uncle Wardour would have made me good—and it was all my fault.”
“My dear,” and he put the other hand so that he completely encircled the little slim waist, “I do quite believe that Mr. Wardour taught you all the good you have. There is nothing I am so glad of as that you love and reverence him as he deserves—as far as such a child can do. I hope you always will, and that your gratitude will increase with your knowledge of the sacrifices that he made for you.”
It was too much of a speech for Kate to answer; but she nestled up to him, and felt as if she loved him more than ever. He added, “I should like to see Mr. Wardour, but I can hardly leave your aunt yet. Would he come to London?”
Kate gave a gasp. “Oh dear! Sylvia said he would have no money for journeys now! It cost so much his coming in a first-class carriage with me.”
“You see how necessary it is to learn consideration,” said the Colonel; “I must run down to see him, and come back at night.”
By this time they were at the aunts’ door, and both entered the drawing-room together.