Fred then turned to Katie, and was very chatty and amusing, as he could be when he chose. He stayed some little time, and helped Frank much in smoothing away the stiffness, and in filling up the occasional pauses which are incidental to ceremonies of this kind.
He came again to dinner, and was still in high spirits, paying Katie many hyperbolical compliments, which she laughed at, telling him that he was not an Irishman, and that no one but Irishmen had a right to talk outrageous nonsense.
Soon after the dessert was placed upon the table, Frank said to his wife,—
“There, Katie, I want to talk to Fred, so go upstairs like a good girl, and make tea for us.” Then, when he was with his cousin, he went on, “Now, Fred, I want to talk to you. I have had a most extraordinary letter from my uncle, accusing me of unheard-of wickedness, and breaking-off all acquaintance and connection with me. There it is, read it through, and tell me what it means.”
Fred Bingham read Captain Bradshaw's letter through.
“Extraordinary,” he said; “but I am really hardly surprised. He has spoken to me in a rambling, excited way about you, and I really am afraid that he is going a little out of his mind.”
Frank looked at the table gloomily.
“I have written to him to demand an explanation, and he has returned the letter unopened.” His cousin looked grieved rather than surprised. “It is abominable,” Frank went on, warmly; “the only possible reason I can see is that I refused to marry Alice Heathcote, when he had set his mind upon it.”
Fred Bingham had long suspected that such had been Captain Bradshaw's wish, and he now took advantage of the knowledge.