“That is hardly sufficient motive,” said the Canon, hushing Emberance with a sign.
“Yes,” said Kate, “because when she was unhappy for want of it, it showed me that the unfair settlement really set our lives wrong. And perhaps my father would have made it all right in a day or two more, so I do it instead.”
“But why do you not give Emberance the whole?”
“Because that would make her feel as uncomfortable about it as I do now, and because she—she couldn’t live at Kingsworth.”
“And shall not you regret this place, which you have the means to keep up well? So much of my father’s earnings was spent on Kingsworth, that it came as a barren honour to your grandfather, whose means were still further impoverished afterwards, but your mother’s fortune would make you a rich woman with Kingsworth, Kate, a great lady. Shall you not regret it?”
“Yes,” said Kate, with perfect straightforwardness, “I shall be rather sorry for it, but not enough to matter.”
“She has said her catechism well,” said the Canon. “She knows her own mind and her own motives. Now, Katharine, there is one more question you must answer, that no cloud may ever rest on the future. Has your cousin Emberance ever expressed any regret at her own exclusion, shown you any jealousy, or attempted to influence your feelings?”
“Uncle, how dare you ask such a wicked question?” cried Kate, vehemently. “No, no, no! Emberance has always loved me. Oh, Emmy, you know you never did,” and breaking from her uncle, she ran to Emberance, and threw her arms round her, whispering “Emmy, don’t cry, don’t cry,—you will be happy now.”
“I will speak on my side,” cried Emberance, sobbing, “I would rather have cut my tongue out. So would my mother. I love Kate. I only agree because of what you told me, uncle.”
“Tut, tut,” said the Canon, “the whole point is settled now.”