“How tiresome!” cried she. “Why, I only just washed it!”
“Yes, my Lady; but you took hold of the balusters all the way down. And your forehead! Bless me! what would Lady Barbara say?”
For Kate had been trying to peep through the balusters into the hall below, and had of course painted her brow with London blacks. She made one of her little impatient gestures, and thought she was very hardly used—dirt stuck upon her, and brambles tore her like no one else.
She got safely down this time, and went into the drawing-room with Mrs. Lacy, there taking a voyage of discovery among the pretty things, knowing she must not touch, but asking endless questions, some of which Mrs. Lacy answered in her sad indifferent way, others she could not answer, and Kate was rather vexed at her not seeming to care to know. Kate had not yet any notion of caring for other people’s spirits and feelings; she never knew what to do for them, and so tried to forget all about them.
The aunts came in, and with them Mr. Wardour. She was glad to run up to him, and drag him to look at a group in white Parian under a glass, that had delighted her very much. She knew it was Jupiter’s Eagle; but who was feeding it? “Ganymede,” said Mr. Wardour; and Kate, who always liked mythological stories, went on most eagerly talking about the legend of the youth who was borne away to be the cup-bearer of the gods. It was a thing to make her forget about the aunts and everybody else; and Mr. Wardour helped her out, as he generally did when her talk was neither foolish nor ill-timed but he checked her when he thought she was running on too long, and went himself to talk to Mrs. Lacy, while Kate was obliged to come to her aunts, and stood nearest to Lady Jane, of whom she was least afraid.
“You seem quite at home with all the heathen gods, my dear,” said Lady Jane; “how come you to know them so well?”
“In Charlie’s lesson-books, you know,” said Kate; and seeing that her aunt did not know, she went on to say, “there are notes and explanations. And there is a Homer—an English one, you know; and we play at it.”
“We seem to have quite a learned lady here!” said aunt Barbara, in the voice Kate did not like. “Do you learn music?”
“No; I haven’t got any ear; and I hate it!”
“Oh!” said Lady Barbara drily; and Kate seeing Mr. Wardour’s eyes fixed on her rather anxiously, recollected that hate was not a proper word, and fell into confusion.