With an effort, Catherine controlled her emotion, looked up and replied, steadily—
“No, no, dear Mrs. Clifton, you do not demand too much of me. As far as my will and my power, as far as the grace of God aids me, I will serve Major Clifton with the affection and fidelity of a sister and a servant, but I have not the smallest reason to suppose that he will ever admit me to a friendship sufficiently intimate to make it possible for me to affect his character and conduct in any way, even if I should presume to wish it.”
“My dear Kate, Archer’s wife will be his friend, companion and counsellor—he never would be happy with a mere housekeeper or parlor ornament, however beautifully accomplished and amiable—it is therefore he will prize my dear Catherine’s clear, strong mind and proud heart—she will be admitted to his closest thoughts and his noblest counsels, do not doubt it.”
“Oh, madam, you do not comprehend me yet, I see. How deeply rooted your mistake must be, dear lady! Oh, how shall I tell you? Indeed you are in error if you suppose—if you suppose that—” Kate stopped short and burst into tears.
Mrs. Clifton encircled her waist with her arm, and said—
“Come, Kate, stop all this blushing and weeping. Let us be confidential, you and I, as mother and daughter should be, for you are as my own daughter, Kate, and am I not a mother to you?”
“Oh, yes! yes! dear lady!” said Catherine, taking her hand, and pressing it to her bosom, and covering it with kisses. “Oh, yes, you are indeed like a mother to me, if I were only worthy to be your daughter! and I love and honor you more than ever a mother was loved and honored in this world before, I do believe!”
“Then let there be no reserve between us, dear Kate. Let us be open with each other, as parent and child, whose loves, and hopes, and wishes are the same. I have been plain with you all along, only gradually unfolding your future, not to alarm your shyness—and to win your confidence. I have longed for this confidence—this perfect openness between us—that we might talk with more intelligence, and with more comfort—and I have courted it by my own frankness; but in return for all my candor, Catherine has shown me only reserve and blushes. Will she be more confiding now?”
“Alas, dearest lady, what can I say to you, but that you are greatly mistaken—sadly mistaken—oh, yes, indeed, sadly mistaken,” replied Kate, almost weeping again.
“I am not mistaken in supposing that Catherine loves my son. I am not mistaken in knowing that the fact gives me more happiness than anything else in the world. Yet I would like to hear Kate admit it.”