“They all know it,” continued Katharine, not heeding her. “I can see it in their eyes when they look at me.”
“Nonsense, Katharine—nobody but Walter and Ham—”
“Your husband told my mother, too. She spoke very oddly. He’s been telling every one. Why does he want to make trouble? Does he hate Jack so?”
“Hate him? No, indeed! I think he’s rather fond of him—”
“It’s a very treacherous sort of fondness, then,” answered Katharine, with a bitter little laugh, and changing her position at last, so that she looked into her friend’s face.
“Katharine!” exclaimed Hester. “How can you talk like that—telling me that Walter is treacherous—”
“Oh—you mustn’t mind what I say—I’m a little upset—I didn’t mean to hurt you, dear.”
Katharine rose, and without another word she left her friend and began to go up the side of the room alone, looking for some one as she went. In a moment one of her numerous young adorers was by her side. He had seen her talking to Mrs. Crowdie, and had watched his opportunity.
“No,” said Katharine, absently, and without looking at him. “I don’t want to dance, thanks. I want to find my cousin, Hamilton Bright. Have you seen him?”
“Oh—ah—yes!” answered the young man, with an imitation of the advanced English manner of twenty years ago, which seems to have become the ideal of our gilded youth of to-day. “He’s in the corner under the balcony—he’s been—er—rather leathering into Crowdie—you know—er—for talking about Jack Ralston’s last, all over the place—I daresay you’ve heard of it, Miss Lauderdale—being—er—a cousin of your own, too. No end game, that Ralston chap!”