“Kitty, my darling,” she said at length, “what has happened to you?”
Kate turned round on her, and said passionately and bitterly,—
“Nothing!”
“Nothing?”
“No—but oh! I hate myself, and despise myself! I wish I could drown myself,” cried Katharine in her agony. “Have you quarrelled with Major Clare?”
“No!”
“Refused him?”
“No—oh no!” cried Kate, “never, never speak about him any more.”
Her grief was so violent, and in its free expression seemed so childish, that Emberance had no scruple in following her to her room, and in trying to soothe and comfort her; and for some minutes Kate sat with her head on her cousin’s lap, and sobbed as if her heart would break. At last she seemed to gather herself together, ceased crying, and sat up, gazing into the fire with a strange dreary look, as the quivering mouth grew still and set itself into harder lines.
“Emmy,” she said, “I’ve been a silly girl. He doesn’t care for me, he liked Kingsworth.”