A book—fresh and new—emerged. Politics and the Country Houses; so ran the title on the back. Kitty looked at it frowning. "He might have found a better name!" Then she opened it—looked at a page here and a page there—laughed, shivered—and at last bethought her to read the note from the publisher which accompanied it.
"'Much pleasure—the first printed copy—three more to follow—sure to make a sensation'—hateful wretch!—'if your ladyship will let us know how many presentation copies—' Goodness!—not one! Oh—well!—Madeleine, perhaps—and, of course, Mr. Darrell."
She opened a little despatch-box in which she kept her letters, and slipped the book in.
"I won't show it to William to-night—not—not till next week." The book was to be out on the 20th, a week ahead—three months from the day when she had given the MS. into Darrell's hands. She had been spared all the trouble of correcting proofs, which had been done for her by the publisher's reader, on the plea of her illness. She had received and destroyed various letters from him—almost without reading them—during a short absence of William's in the north.
Suddenly a start of terror ran through her. "No, no!" she said, wrestling with herself—"he'll scold me, perhaps—at first; of course I know he'll do that. And then, I'll make him laugh! He can't—he can't help laughing. I know it'll amuse him. He'll see how I meant it, too. And nobody need ever find out."
She heard his step outside, hastily locked her despatch-box, threw a shawl over it, and lay back languidly on her pillows, awaiting him.
XVIII
The following morning, early, a note was brought to Kitty from Madame d'Estrées:
"Darling Kitty,—Will you join us to-night in an expedition? You know that Princess Margherita is staying on the Grand Canal?—in one of the Mocenigo palaces. There is to be a serenata in her honor to-night—not one of those vulgar affairs which the hotels get up, but really good music and fine voices—money to be given to some hospital or other. Do come with us. I suppose you have your own gondola, as we have. The gondolas who wish to follow meet at the Piazzetta, weather permitting, eight o'clock. I know, of course, that you are not going out. But this is only music!—and for a charity. One just sits in one's gondola, and follows the music up the canal. Send word by bearer. Your fond mother,