“No, my dear,” said Mr. Wardour; “but we have heard a very strange piece of news about you, and I am very anxious as to whether it may turn out for your happiness.”
Kate stood still and looked at him, wishing he would speak faster. Could her great-uncle in India be come home, and want her to make him a visit in London? How delightful! If it had been anybody but Papa, she would have said, “Go on.”
“My dear,” said Mr. Wardour at last, “you know that your cousin, Lord Caergwent, was killed by an accident last week.”
“Yes, I know,” said Kate; “that was why Mary made me put this black braid on my frock; and a very horrid job it was to do—it made my fingers so sore.”
“I did not know till this morning that his death would make any other difference to you,” continued Mr. Wardour. “I thought the title went to heirs-male, and that Colonel Umfraville was the present earl; but, my little Katharine, I find that it is ordained that you should have this great responsibility.”
“What, you thought it was the Salic law?” said Kate, going on with one part of his speech, and not quite attending to the other.
“Something like it; only that it is not the English term for it,” said Mr. Wardour, half smiling. “As your grandfather was the elder son, the title and property come to you.”
Kate did not look at him, but appeared intent on the marks of the needle on the end of her forefinger, holding down her head.
Sylvia, however, seemed to jump in her very skin, and opening her eyes, cried out, “The title! Then Kate is—is—oh, what is a she-earl called?”
“A countess,” said Mr. Wardour, with a smile, but rather sadly. “Our little Kate is Countess of Caergwent.”