“Oh, yes, my dear, that would be easy enough. And then—I tell you what: I have plenty, and I’m tired of the worry and care of a solicitor’s life. Why shouldn’t I take a few years’ holiday and go on the Continent with my adopted daughter and her old maid? Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Switzerland, Italy, Egypt—what would you say to that? It would be delightful.”
“Yes,” said Kate, eagerly, “and then I could be at rest. No,” she said, suddenly, with the colour once more rising in her cheeks, “that would be impossible.”
“Yes,” said Garstang, watching her narrowly, as she averted her face, to gaze now in the fire. “Castles in the air, my dear.”
“Yes,” she said, dreamily, “castles in the air;” but she was seeing golden castles in the glowing fire, and her face grew hotter as, in spite of herself, she peopled one of those golden castles in a peculiar way which made her pulses begin to flutter, and she felt that she dared not gaze in her companion’s face.
“Yes, castles in the air, my child,” said Garstang again. “For that fortune was amassed by your father for the benefit of his child and her husband, and she must not lightly throw it away to benefit a foolish, grasping, impecunious relative.”
“The dinner is served, sir,” said Mrs Plant.
Garstang rose and offered his arm, which Kate took at once.
“We may dismiss the unpleasant business now,” he said, with a smile.
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said.
“But tell me, you do feel satisfied and safe—at rest?”