It was with a stronger sensation of pleasure than she had known for many days, that Kate heard her cousin propose their removal from the mighty capital, now rapidly gathering together its beauty and its strength, its fashion and its political hosts.
"Is there any place you would prefer, dear Kate," she asked, one evening as they sat together, after their quickly despatched dinner, (Lady Desmond had, after much solicitation, consented to accompany an old Neapolitan acquaintance to the opera, and was now waiting for her friend's carriage.)
"No, none," replied Kate, indolently, "all I care for is to leave London; though, dearest Georgy, it is by no means insupportable to me, if you wish to stay."
"It has no attraction for me," said Lady Desmond, "Ireland would be painful to you now, and though I long to take you abroad, you will enjoy a visit to France or Germany much more a few months hence; besides, I would rather not leave England at present.
"Lady Elizabeth Macdonnell was sitting with me this morning," she resumed, after a pause, during which she played thoughtfully with the tassels of her Cashmere cloak. "You don't know her, she was related to poor Sir Thomas, and beside that, her husband was an old brother-in-arms of his. When General Macdonnell died, his widow was left almost penniless, and so they gave her apartments at Hampton Court Palace; she tells me it is a pleasant, quiet place for a month or two; pretty rides and drives near town if you want to see any one, or any thing—out of the way if you are misanthropically inclined. In short, she is very anxious to get me down there; she is in wretched health, and if it is practicable, I should like to gratify her; she was most kind to me, poor thing, in her palmy days, when I was an inexperienced bride. Would you like the locale, Kate?"
"Who, I?" said Kate, absently, "yes, very much."
"Well then, I will go down there to-morrow, and see the place, and Lady Elizabeth; to tell the truth, for I must not take credit for more philanthropy than I possess, though I do not wish to remain in London, I feel a reluctance to leave its neighbourhood—it is strange," and Lady Desmond relapsed into silence and thought, a look of impatience slightly contracting her brow, and changing the expression of her resolute mouth to one of dissatisfaction and unrest.
Kate gazed at her in the indolent speculation of a mind too depressed for activity of thought, as to what cause of vexation could possibly ruffle the prosperous current of her cousin's life.
"Mr. ——'s carriage," announced a spruce waiter.
And kissing her fair god-child, and bidding her an affectionate good-night, Lady Desmond swept out of the room, leaving Kate to the care of Mrs. O'Toole.