“If you still wish it, after your birthday, Katie,” said her mother. “It is not a bad plan.”
But no one would help her to lay plans for anything after the fifteenth of January.
“It is like the end of the world. Shall I be anybody at all when to-morrow is over?” she thought to herself as they journeyed towards Kingsworth, whither the Canon and his wife had preceded them by a few days, and where Emberance was to meet them.
It was fine, clear winter weather, frosty and bright. The sea was sparkling in the sunrise when Katharine looked out on it on the morning of her birthday. The blue water, the frosty slopes of the park looked their best and fairest, as the bells of Kingsworth Church rang out a merry peal in honour of Miss Kingsworth’s coming of age. A feeling of unreality came over Kate, it was as if she were going to take a part in a play. She put on her best dress, and went down stairs as the breakfast bell rang. Then there were kisses and congratulations. The Canon gave Kate a pretty necklace, Emberance some girlish piece of handiwork, Rosa and Minnie Clare had sent her a book.
“I forgot to get you a present, Katie,” said her mother. “You must choose afterwards.”
“Afterwards!” thought Kate. “Then there will be an afterwards.”
They sat down to breakfast; the Canon talked politics, and Emberance replied with a manifest sense of the propriety on her part of appearing unconscious of a crisis. Kate spoke now and then. Her mother was absolutely silent.
When the meal was over there was a pause, as if no one quite knew what to do next.
“Well, Katharine,” said the Canon, “you are queen of the day, how are we to spend it?”
“I wish,” said Kate, “that every one should hear what I want to say. If you please, uncle, come into the drawing-room.”