“It wasn’t exactly complimentary, mother,” said Katharine, coldly. “Besides, is it fair to say that a man is a failure at Jack’s age? Patrick Henry was a failure at twenty-three. He was bankrupt.”
“Patrick Henry!” exclaimed Ralston. “What do you know about Patrick Henry?”
“Oh, I’ve been reading history. It was he who said, ‘Give me liberty, or give me death.’ ”
“Was it? I didn’t know. But I’m glad to hear of somebody who got smashed first and celebrated afterwards. It’s generally the other way, like Napoleon and Julius Cæsar.”
“Cardinal Wolsey, Alexander the Great, and John Gilpin. It’s easy to multiply examples, as the books say.”
“You’re much too clever for me this evening. I must be going home. My mother and I are going to dine all alone and abuse our neighbours all the evening.”
“How delightful!” exclaimed Katharine, thinking of the grim family table at which she was to sit as usual—there had been some fine fighting in Charlotte’s unmarried days, but Katharine’s opposition was generally of the silent kind.
“Yes,” answered Ralston. “There’s nobody like my mother. She’s the best company in the world. Good night, cousin Emma. Good night, Katharine.”
But Katharine followed him into the entry, letting the library door almost close behind her.
“It will be quite time enough, if you come and tell me on the evening before it is to be,” she whispered hurriedly. “There’s no party to-morrow night, but on Wednesday I’m going to the Thirlwalls’ dance.”