'He lives in Beverbridge still, but not here. Your letter has been sent on to him by one of my servants, though I might reasonably have returned it to Jenkins, the postman, who should have known his business better than to have delivered it wrongly. Now come into the drawing-room, my dear; there is a fire there.'
'Please let us stay here. You look at home in this room. The drawing-room will be a chilly-looking place, I know, in spite of the fire.'
Mr. Carmichael's gaze softened as it rested on the merry pleading face.
'Still the same roguish young lady, Catherine? Bent on having your own way, even in trivial matters! Ah, well, you ought to have it, if it doesn't spoil you.'
'That latter sentence was an after-thought, uncle! Thank you! Remember, I am not a spoilt child of fortune any longer, but poor Miss Carmichael, the companion!'
Her hearty laugh was not echoed by her relative. In his opinion the loss of money was a great evil,—a few years earlier he would have been disposed to think it the greatest possible, only he was beginning to realize that riches are less powerful than is usually supposed. Catherine, being quick to note changes of expression in those dear to her, cried suddenly:
'Uncle! you are sorry for me!'
'Is that so remarkable, my dear?'
'Perhaps not, only I—I regret it. Why should you worry over my case, when it does not in the least distress me? If I were very rich, I should worry about the responsibility of such a stewardship, for fear I might not make the best use of it, and so disappoint God.'
Mr. Carmichael smiled involuntarily.