Something in her tone made Celia’s cheeks burn and she drew herself up.
“Yes,” she said; “we know him, both of us; I guess it’s astonishing to you; but I met him first when he was poor, and getting rich hasn’t spoiled Mr. Vane.”
Evelyn was once more puzzled—the girl’s manner savoured less of assurance than of wholesome pride which had been injured. Kitty, however, broke in:
“We had no cards to send in; but I’m Kathleen Blake, and this is Celia Hartley—it was her father sent Mr. Vane off to look for the spruce.”
“Ah!” said Evelyn, a little more gently, addressing Celia; “I understand your father died.”
Kitty flashed a commanding glance at Celia, who spoke: “Yes; that is correct. He left me ill and worn out, without a dollar, and I don’t know what I should have done if Mr. Vane hadn’t insisted on giving Drayton a little money for me, on account, he said, because I was a partner in the venture. Then Miss Horsfield got me some work to do at home among her friends. Mr. Vane must have asked her to: it would be like him.”
Evelyn sat silent for a few moments. Celia had given her a good deal of information in answer to a very simple remark; but she was most impressed by the statement that Jessie, who had prejudiced her against Vane, had helped the girl at his request. It was difficult to believe she would have done so had there been any foundation for her insinuations. If Celia spoke the truth, and Evelyn somehow felt this was the case, the whole thing was extraordinary.
“Now,” said Celia, “it’s no way surprising I’m grateful to Mr. Vane and anxious to hear if Mr. Carroll has reached him.” This was spoken with a hint of defiance, but the girl’s voice changed. “I am anxious. It’s horrible to think of a man like him freezing in the bush.”
Her concern was so genuine and yet somehow so innocent that Evelyn’s heart softened.
“Yes,” she said; “it’s dreadful.” Then she asked a question: “Who’s the Mr. Drayton you mentioned?”