Still under the influence of the slight which he believed had been put upon him, Herbert made this announcement with a certain stiffness of manner, which the young girl could not fail to notice. It produced a momentary incongeniality, that was in danger of degenerating into a positive coolness; and Kate, who had come forth under the promptings of an affectionate instinct, trembled under a repulse, the cause of which she could not comprehend.
It did not, however, hinder her from courteously rejoining:—
“We were expecting you—as father had received your letter; but not to-day. Papa said not before to-morrow. Permit me, cousin, to welcome you to Jamaica.” Herbert bowed profoundly. Again the young creole felt her warm impulses painfully checked; and, blushing with embarrassment, she stood in an attitude of indecision.
Herbert, whose heart had been melting like snow under a tropic sun, now became sensible that he was committing a rudeness; which, so far from being natural to him, was costing him a struggle to counterfeit.
Why should the sins of the father be visited on the child—and such a child?
With a reflection kindred to this, the young man hastened to change his attitude of cold reserve.
“Thanks for your kind welcome!” said he, now speaking in a tone of affectionate frankness; “But, fair cousin, you have not told me your name.”
“Catherine—though I am usually addressed by the shorter synonym, Kate.”
“Catherine! that is a family name with us. My fathers mother, and your father’s, too—our grandmamma—was a Catherine. Was it also your mother’s name?”
“No; my mother was called Quasheba.”