“Say what?” cried Adelaide, who was always apt to be a good deal excited by Kate; and who had been going off into fits of laughter at all these foolish sallies.
“It is not a very nice thing to say,” answered her mother gravely; “so there is no occasion to learn it.”
Kate did take the hint this time, and coloured up to the ears, partly with vexation, partly with shame. She sat silent and confused for several minutes, till her friends took pity on her, and a few good-natured words about her choice of an ice quite restored her liveliness. It is well to be good-humoured; but it is unlucky, nay, wrong, when a check from friends without authority to scold, does not suffice to bring soberness instead of rattling giddiness. Lady de la Poer was absolutely glad to break up the dinner, so as to work off the folly and excitement by moving about, before it should make the little girl expose herself, or infect Adelaide.
They intended to have gone into the gardens till four o’clock, when the fountains were to play; but as they moved towards the great door, they perceived a dark heavy cloud was hiding the sun that had hitherto shone so dazzlingly through the crystal walls.
“That is nice,” said Lady Fanny; “it will be cool and pleasant now before the rain.”
“If the rain is not imminent,” began her father.
“Oh! is it going to be a thunder-storm?” cried Kate. “Oh dear! I do so hate thunder! What shall I do?” cried she; all her excitement turning into terror.
Before anyone could answer her, there was a flash of bright white light before all their eyes, and a little scream.
“She’s struck! she’s struck!” cried Adelaide, her hands before her eyes.
For Kate had disappeared. No, she was in the great pond, beside which they had been standing, and Mary was kneeling on the edge, holding fast by her frock. But before the deep voice of the thunder was roaring and reverberating through the vaults, Lord de la Poer had her in his grasp, and the growl had not ceased before she was on her feet again, drenched and trembling, beginning to be the centre of a crowd, who were running together to help or to see the child who had been either struck by lightning or drowned.