“Papa! It is cruel of you to keep it from me. I promise I shall share your joy.”
“Ah! you will when you hear the news—that is, if you’re not a little simpleton, Kate.”
“I a simpleton, papa? I shall not be called so.”
“Why, you’ll be a simpleton if you don’t be joyful—when you—never mind, child—I’ll tell you all about it by-and-by. Good, good!” continued he, in a state of ecstatic frenzy. “I thought so—I knew he would come.”
“Then you expect some one, papa?”
“I do. Guess who it is!”
“How could I? You know I am unacquainted with your English friends.”
“Not with their names? You have heard their names, and seen letters from some of them?”
“Oh, yes, I often hear you speak of one—Mr Smythje. A very odd name it is! I wouldn’t be called Smythje for the world.”
“Ta, ta, child! Smythje is a very pretty name, especially with Montagu before it. Montagu is magnificent. Besides, Mr Smythje is the owner of Montagu Castle.”