Upon which Mr Crediton laughed. Such a cynical Mephistophelian laugh was not in his way, neither was it usual with him to swear by Jove; but he was aggravated, and his mind was twisted quite out of its general strain. No doubt it is very hard to have favours heaped upon you by a man whom you do not like. And then he had the feeling which embittered his dislike, that for every good service John had done him, he had repaid him with harm. As a recompense for his daughter’s life, he had placed her lover in the dingy outer office—a clerk with more pretensions and less prospect of success than any of the rest. As a reward for the devotion which had saved him his property, he made his house, if not disagreeable, at least unattractive to his visitor, and now felt a certain vigorous satisfaction in the thought of having beaten him off the field. “That fellow!” he said, and flattered himself that Kate too was getting tired of him. John had not even taken his preferment gratefully and humbly, as would have been natural; but insisted upon taking possession of Kate whenever he could monopolise her society, and looked as black as night when she was not at his call. Instead of being overjoyed with the prospect of going to Fernwood at any price, he had the assurance to resent his cool reception and to cut short his visit, as if he were on an equal or even superior footing. Mr Crediton was very glad to get rid of him, but yet he was furious at his presumption in venturing to take it upon himself to go away. It was a curious position altogether. He dared not be rude to the man who had done so much for him; everybody would have called shame on him had he attempted it; and yet he began to hate him for his services. And at the same time he had the substantial foundation of justice to rest upon, that in point of fact John Mitford was not a suitable match for Kate Crediton. It was in this mood that he accosted Kate, almost expecting to find her disposed to respond in his own vein.
“There is many a slip between the cup and the lip,” he said oracularly, and left her standing where he had found her, almost diverted from her own thoughts by indignation and that healthful impulse of opposition which springs so naturally in the young human breast. “There shall be no slips in John’s cup,” she said to herself, with a certain fury, as she turned away, not thinking much of the unity of the metaphor. No, nothing should interfere with John’s happiness; at least nothing should permanently interfere with it. The course of true love should certainly be made to run smooth for him, and everything should go right—at the last. That, of course, was all that was necessary—the most severe critic could not demand more than a happy conclusion. “Papa is very, very much mistaken if he thinks he can make me a traitor to John,” Kate said within herself, indignantly, and hurried off to put on her habit, and went out to ride with a countenance severe in conscious virtue. She was pleased that it was Fred Huntley who kept most closely by her side all the way. For one thing, he rode very well, which is always a recommendation; and then she felt that she could speak to him of the subject which was most in her thoughts. It was true that she had almost quarrelled with her lover on Fred’s account, and that there had been a moment when her mind was full of the thought that her choice must lie between the two. But Kate forgot these warnings in the impulse of the moment, and in her longing for confidential communion with somebody who was interested in John.
“Papa has been making himself so disagreeable to-day,” she said. “No, I know I have not much to complain of in that way; generally he is very good; but this morning—though perhaps I ought not to say anything about it,” Kate concluded with a sigh.
“It is a way our fathers have,” said Fred, “though they ought to know better at their time of life; but Mr Crediton is a model in his way—small blame to him when he has only to deal with——”
“Me,” said Kate; “please don’t pay me any compliments; we don’t really like them, you know, though we have to pretend to. I know I am sometimes very aggravating; but if there is any good in a girl at all, she must stand up for anybody who—who is fond of her: don’t you think so, Mr Huntley? What could any one think of her if she had not the heart to do that?”
“I am afraid I don’t quite follow your meaning,” said Fred; “to stand up for everybody who is fond of her? but in that case your life would be a series of standings-up for somebody or other—and one might have too much of that.”
“There you go again,” said Kate; “another compliment! when that is not in the least what I want. I want backing up myself. I want—advice.”
“Indeed, indeed,” said Fred—“I am quite ready to give any quantity of backing up—on the terms you have just mentioned; or—advice.”
“Well,” said Kate, with a certain softness in her tone—she could not help being slightly caressing to anybody she talked confidentially with—“you know we have been friends almost all our lives; at least I was a very small little girl when I first knew you; we used to call you Fred in those days—Minnie and Lizzie and I——”
“Minnie and Lizzie call me Fred still,” said her companion, dryly; and he brought his horse very close, almost too close, to her side.