“Claud! for shame! I will not allow it. It is not respectful to your mamma. Now, come in, both of you. Mr Garstang is here—with your father, Claud, my love; and I wish you to be very nice and respectful to him, for who knows what may happen? Kate, my dear, I never think anything of money, but when one has rich relatives who have no children of their own, I always say that we oughtn’t to go out of our way to annoy them. Henry Dasent certainly is my sister’s child, but one can’t help thinking more of one’s own son; and as Harry is nothing to Mr Garstang, I can’t see how he can help remembering Claud very strongly in his will.”
“Doesn’t Claud wish he may get it!” cried that youth, with a grin. “I’m not going to toady old Garstang for the sake of his coin.”
“Nobody wishes you to, my dear; but come in; they must be done with their business by now. Come, my darling. Why, there’s a pretty bloom on your cheeks already. I felt that a little fresh air would do you good. They’re in the library; come along. We can go in through the verandah. Don’t whistle, Claud, dear; it’s so boyish.”
They passed together out of the farther door of the conservatory into the verandah, and as they approached an open window, a smooth bland voice said:
“I’ll do the best I can, Mr Wilton; but I am only the agent. If I stave it off, though, it can only be for a short time, and then—Ah, my dear child!”
John Garstang, calm, smooth, well-dressed and handsome, rose from one of the library chairs as Kate entered with her aunt, and held out both his hands: “I am very glad to see you again—very, very sorry to hear that you have been so ill. Hah!” he continued, as he scrutinised the agitated face before him in a tender fatherly way, “not quite right yet, though,” and he led her to a chair near the fire. “That rosy tinge is a trifle too hectic, and the face too transparently white. You must take care of her, Maria Wilton, and see that she has plenty of this beautiful fresh air. I hope she is a good obedient patient.”
“Ve-ry, ve-ry, good indeed, John Garstang, only a little too much disposed to keep to her room.”
“Oh, well, quite natural, too,” said Garstang, smiling. “What we all do when we are ailing. But there, we must not begin a discussion about ailments. I’m very glad to see you again, though, Kate, and congratulate you upon being here.”
“Thank you, Mr Garstang,” she replied, giving him a wistful look, as a feeling of loneliness amongst these people made her heart seem to contract.
“Well, Wilton, I don’t think we need talk any more about business?”