“I haven’t been dull at all.”
“Nor I. Kate, do you think I have been pasting books to please Rosa?”
“Haven’t you?”
“No, indeed—shall I tell you what brought me? shall I tell you what I hope may be the end of a wandering homeless life?”
She looked up with that in her eyes, which, had he met them, must have brought the scene to a point at once, and given it a very different ending. But he was looking into the fire, and went on with a sort of sense that explanation was her due—went on talking of himself. “There has always been a great want in my life, and I’m grown old. I want to tell you something that a younger fellow would have got out in half the time. Has a battered old soldier any right to think his story would interest you?”
“I don’t think you’re old,” said Kate, abruptly, “but I ought, I want to tell you something first.”
Poor child, in the last word she showed that she understood him, as half with a longing for his counsel, half with a sense of honour towards himself, she said, “You know, I suppose, all the story about my father and Emberance’s.”
“I do not care a straw for old scandals.”
“They’re not scandals, at least mamma says it is true. So I am not sure if when I come of age—I ought not to give it back—I haven’t decided. But they say it is mine only through—a cheat.”
“Who has filled your mind with such a ridiculous scruple?” exclaimed the Major in rather unloverlike tones.