There was no mistaking the child's devotion. She firmly believed that Kittie had saved her from being lost forever, and on the foundation of her great gratitude, she had built an overwhelming love, that expressed itself in various ways. She never let any one of the family come to town without bringing flowers, and she insisted on coming in at least three times a week, herself; and it may be remarked, that whatever Pansy set her mind on, she did.
Between aunts, uncles, and cousins, and a father, who was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was the most wonderful child alive, she was in a fair way of being spoiled, and had finally come to where she ruled the household with the most imperious little will, which every one submitted to, and thought delightful.
Twice since the picnic, she had come with her papa, in the phaeton, and taken Kittie to ride, and three times, Mr. Murray had come in the long summer evenings, and brought her to spend an hour or two; and there Kittie's acquaintance with him ceased.
In the rides, he had talked to her but little, preferring to listen to the unbroken chatter which Pansy kept up with her. And then he saw, that to her, he appeared in a fatherly guise, which made her feel perfectly free and unrestrained, and he thought it best to leave it so for the present.
His calls in the evenings had been entirely devoted to Mrs. Dering. They would sit on the porch, in proper, elderly fashion, sometimes joined by Bea, while the twins and Pansy would roam about the yard, and play together like three children, and Mr. Murray would have nothing to say to the one he really came to see except "Good evening, Miss Kittie," when he came, and when he left.
No one, except his own sister, suspected in the least that anything took him there save a desire to accompany Pansy, whose absorbing devotion everyone in Canfield knew by this time.
Mr. Murray was quick to see that in the mother's eyes, Kittie and Kat were the merest children, and that a thought of any other kind in connection with them, would not be harbored for an instant; and he also saw, that never a girlish heart was freer from anything of loves or lovers, than Kittie's, and so long as it was so, he was quite content to let it remain, and watch it grow to maturity. There was no denying that he was strangely and powerfully interested in her, wonder and laugh at the idea, as he would, though he could not yet think that the feeling had assumed the name of love. It was only that respect and interest that comes to the heart of man when he meets a woman, lovely, fresh-hearted, and unselfishly sweet.
The approaching dignity of sixteen lay over the girls, and while Kat was still a most thoroughly romping tom-boy, Kittie was wonderfully womanly, with pretty, graceful, lady-like ways, the sweetest possible voice, and the loveliest eyes that ever looked, with girlish innocence, into the face of the man who felt that love her he could, and love her he would, in spite of himself.
There was something irresistibly attractive and sweet to Paul Murray, in watching the love between his little daughter and the young girl. Kittie's slightest word was law to Pansy; and there was something so womanly in the way she exercised her influence, and made the child's love a source of benefit unto her spoiled, wayward little self.
When fall drifted into the chilly reign of winter, Mr. Murray went back to the city. He had intended going long before, but had put it off, a week at a time, until winter had finally come; then he decided with a sudden determination, and, as if to test his firmness of purpose, had slipped away from Pansy, and galloped into town, trusting to the darkness to hide from Canfield's prying eyes, that he was coming to the Dering's alone. Not that he cared; oh, no, he would just as soon have heralded to every soul therein that it was so, but for Kittie's sake, it was best to give no one's tongue a chance to wag. Many a bud is rudely hastened into blossom by impatient fingers, and withers from the shock; it must not be so now.