“Oh, Jack!” exclaimed Katharine, taken by surprise.
“It was much better. I am not sure that it wouldn’t have been better to tell her long ago. She was hurt, because I’d kept it from her—but she’s very glad, all the same. You see, she would have had to know it all some day—don’t you think I was right to tell her?”
“Yes—I suppose so. Do you know? I’m a little bit afraid of her—well—not exactly afraid, perhaps—I don’t know how to express it—”
“You needn’t be. She thinks there’s nobody like you!”
“I’m glad she’s fond of me,” said Katharine. “I’m glad you’ve told her—I was a little surprised at first, that was all. Yes—I’m glad that she knows.”
She was evidently thinking over the situation, wondering, perhaps, what her next meeting with her mother-in-law was to be like.
“She’s been here with you, hasn’t she?” asked John, resuming the conversation after a short pause.
“Yes, and my own mother, too—and then Mr. Allen, and dear old grandpapa. Poor old gentleman! He sat in a chair and cried like a baby when he went in. And then the reading of the will—and the endless people—the people who have to do with the funeral, you know. All those things jar on me. I must get away. I can’t stand it another hour—at least—not alone. I think I shall go home, after all.”
“Home?” repeated Ralston, in surprise. “But how can you, after all this? Just think how your father will behave! Especially since he’s heard of the will. I’m sure he expected to divide everything with my mother, unless he managed to get it all for himself. I see why you promised not to tell after uncle Robert had told you—”
“No—you don’t see, Jack,” answered Katharine, thoughtfully. “I wonder whether it would be right for me to tell you now. I suppose so. It may make a difference, though I suppose it can’t, really.”