‘Mr. Courtenay! What a great, what a very unexpected——,’ said Mrs. Anderson. She had meant to say pleasure; but even she was so much startled and confounded that she could not carry her intention out.
‘Is it Uncle Courtenay?’ said Kate, rising, too. She was not alarmed—on the contrary, she looked half glad, as if the sight of him was rather a relief than otherwise. ‘Is it you, Uncle Courtenay? Have you come to see us? I am very glad. But I wonder you did not write.’
‘Thanks for your welcome, Kate. Thanks, Mrs. Anderson. Don’t let me disturb you. I made up my mind quite suddenly. I had not thought of it a week ago. Ah! some more acquaintances whom I did not expect to see.’
Mr. Courtenay was very gracious—he shook hands all round. The Berties shrank, no one could have quite told how—they looked at each other, exchanging a glance full of dismay and mutual consultation. Mr. Courtenay’s faculties were all on the alert; but he had been thinking only of his niece, and the young men puzzled him. They were not near Kate, they were not ‘paying her attention;’ but, then, what were they doing here? He was not so imaginative nor so quick in his perceptions as to be able to shift from the difficulty he had mastered to this new one. What he had expected was a foreign adventurer making love to his niece; and instead of that here were two young Englishmen, not even looking at his niece. He was posed; but ever suspicious. For the moment they had baffled him; but he would find it out, whatever they meant, whatever they might be concealing from him; and with that view he accepted the great arm-chair blandly, and sat down to make his observations with the most smiling and ingratiating face.
‘We are taking care of Kate—she is a kind of invalid, as you will see,’ said Mrs. Anderson. ‘It is not bad, I am glad to say, but she has a cold, and I have kept her indoors, and even condemned her to the fireside corner, which she thinks very hard.’
‘It looks very comfortable,’ said Mr. Courtenay. ‘So you have a cold, Kate? I hear you have been enjoying yourself very much, making troops of friends. But pray don’t let me disturb anyone. Don’t let me break up the party——’
‘It is time for us to keep our engagement,’ said Bertie Hardwick, who had taken out his watch. ‘It is a bore to have to go, just as there is a chance of hearing news of home; but I hope we shall see Mr. Courtenay again. We must go now. It is actually nine o’clock.’
‘Yes. I did not think it was nearly so late,’ said his cousin, echoing him. And they hurried away, leaving Mr. Courtenay more puzzled than ever. He had put them to flight, it was evident—but why? For personally he had no dread of them, nor objection to them, and they had not been taking any notice of Kate.
‘I have disturbed your evening, I fear,’ he said to Mrs. Anderson. She was annoyed and uncomfortable, though he could not tell the reason why.
‘Oh! no, not the least. These boys have been in Florence for some little time, and they often come in to enliven us a little in the evenings. But they have a great many engagements. They can never stay very long,’ she said, faltering and stammering, as if she did not quite know what she was saying. But for this Kate would have broken out into aroused remonstrance. Can never stay very long! Why, they stayed generally till midnight, or near it. These words were on Kate’s lips, but she held them back, partly for her aunt’s sake, partly—she could not tell why. Ombra, overcast in a moment from all her brightness, sat behind, drawing her chair back, and began to arrange and put away the silk she had been winding. It shone in the lamplight, vivid and warm in its rich colour. What a curious little picture this made altogether! Kate, startled and curious, in her seat by the fire; Mrs. Anderson, watchful, not knowing what was going to happen, keeping all her wits about her, occupied the central place; and Ombra sat half hidden behind Mr. Courtenay’s chair, a shadowy figure, with the lamplight just catching her white hands, and the long crimson thread of the silk. In a moment everything had changed. It might have been Shanklin again, from the aspect of the party. A little chill seemed to seize them all, though the room was so light and warm. Why was it? Was it a mere reminiscence of his former visit which had brought such change to their lives? He was uncomfortable, and even embarrassed, himself, though he could not have told why.