“I know you’re a good girl, Kate. I know you would. But that is a sort of secret I should hardly expect you to declare—even to me, your father.”
“Pray what is it, papa?”
“Why, at your age, Kate, most girls—and it is but right and natural they should—take to thinking about a young man.”
“Oh! that is what you mean! Then I can answer you, papa, that I have taken to thinking about one.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Mr Vaughan, in a tone of pleased surprise; “you have, have you?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Kate, with an air of the most innocent naïveté. “I have been thinking of one—and so much, that he is scarce ever out of my mind.”
“Ha!” said the Custos, repeating his exclamation of surprise, and rather taken aback by a confession so unexpectedly candid. “Since how long has this been, my child?”
“Since how long?” rejoined Kate, musingly.
“Yes. When did you first begin to think of this young man?”
“Oh! the day before yesterday, after dinner—ever since I first saw him, father.”