“It will be different when the money is divided,” said old Lauderdale, at last. “You’ll have to acknowledge your marriage then.”
Katharine started slightly. She had her back to the windows, but the whiteness of everything in the room threw reflected light into her face, and the blush that very rarely came spread all over it in an instant.
Only four living persons knew that she had been secretly married to John Ralston during the winter; namely, John and herself, the clergyman who had married them, and Robert Lauderdale. At that time she had with great difficulty persuaded John to go through the ceremony, hoping thereby to force her uncle into finding her husband some congenial occupation in the West. Half an hour after taking the decisive step, she had come to Robert Lauderdale with her story, and he had demonstrated to her that John’s only path to success lay through the office of a banker or a lawyer, and John had then returned to Beman Brothers, after refusing to accept a large sum of money, with which old Lauderdale had proposed to make him independent. He had not been willing to give his uncle the smallest chance of thinking that he had married Katharine as a begging speculator, nor had the old gentleman succeeded in making him change his mind since then. Nor had he referred to the marriage when speaking with Katharine, except on one or two occasions, when it had seemed absolutely necessary to do so. And now that he had spoken of it, he saw the burning blush and did not understand it. Women had entered little into his long life. He fancied that he had hurt her, and was very sorry. The great hand closed slowly, as though with an effort, upon the white young fingers.
“I didn’t mean to pain you, my dear; forgive me,” he said, simply.
Katharine looked at him with a little surprise, and the blush instantly disappeared. Then she laughed softly and bent forward with a quick movement.
“You didn’t, uncle dear! You didn’t pain me in the least. It’s only—sometimes I don’t quite realize that I’m Jack’s wife. When I do—like that, just now—it makes me happy. That’s all.”
Robert Lauderdale looked at her, tried to understand, failed, and nodded his big head kindly but vacantly.
“Well—I’m glad,” he said. “But you see, my dear child, when John’s a rich man, you can acknowledge your marriage, and have a house of your own. You really must, and of course you will. John can’t refuse to take his share. We never quarrelled, that I know of, but that once, last winter, and you say he has forgotten that. Has he? Are you quite sure?”
Katharine nodded quickly and a whispered ‘yes’ just parted her fresh lips. In her eyes there was a gentle, almost entreating look, as though she besought him to believe her.
“Well,” he said, and he spoke very slowly—“well—I’m glad. He can’t refuse to take his share when I’m dead and gone—his fair share and no more.” He paused for some seconds. “Katharine,” he said, very earnestly, at last, “there’s a great deal of money to be divided amongst you all. Many of them want it. They’ll all have some—perhaps more than they expect. There’s a great deal of money, child.”