‘So Kate has a cold!’ he repeated. ‘From what I heard, I supposed you were living a very gay life, with troops of friends. I did not expect to find such a charming domestic party. But you are quite at home here, I suppose, and know the customs of the place—all about it? How sorry I am that your young friends should have gone away because of me!’
‘Oh! pray don’t think of it. It was not because of you. They had an engagement,’ said Mrs. Anderson. Yes, I have lived in Florence before; but that was in very different days, when we were not left such domestic quiet in the evenings,’ she added, elevating her head a little, yet sighing. She did not choose Mr. Courtenay, at least, to think that it was only her position as Kate’s chaperon which gave her importance here. And it was quite true that the Consul’s house had been a lively one in its day. Two young wandering Englishmen would not have represented society then; but perhaps all the habitués of the house were not exactly on a level with the Berties. ‘I have kept quiet, not without some trouble,’ she continued, ‘as you wished it so much for Kate.’
‘That was very kind of you,’ he said; ‘but see, now, what odd reports get about. I heard that Kate had plunged into all sorts of gaiety—and was surrounded by Italians—and I don’t know what besides.’
‘And you came to take care of her?’ said Ombra, quietly, at his elbow.
Mr. Courtenay started. He did not expect an assault on that side also.
‘I came to see you all, my dear young lady,’ he said; ‘and I congratulate you on your changed looks, Miss Ombra. Italy has made you look twice as strong and bright as you were in Shanklin. I don’t know if it has done as much for Kate.’
‘Kate has a cold,’ said Mrs. Anderson, ‘but otherwise she is in very good looks. As for Ombra, this might almost be called her native air.’
This civil fencing went on for about half an hour. There was attack and defence, but both stealthy, vague, and general; for the assailant did not quite know what he had to find fault with, and the defenders were unaware what would be the point of assault. Kate, who felt herself the subject of contention, and who did not feel brave enough or happy enough to take up her rôle as she had done at Shanklin, kept in her corner, and said very little. She coughed more than was at all necessary, to keep up her part of invalid; but she did not throw her shield over her aunt as she had once done. With a certain mischievous satisfaction she left them to fight it out: they did not deserve Mr. Courtenay’s wrath, but yet they deserved something. For that one night Kate, who was somewhat sick and sore, felt in no mood to interfere. She could not even keep back one little arrow of her own, when her uncle had withdrawn, promising an early visit on the morrow.
‘As you think I am such an invalid, auntie,’ she said, with playfulness, which was somewhat forced, when the door closed upon that untoward visitor, ‘I think I had better go to bed.’
‘Perhaps it will be best,’ said Mrs. Anderson, offended. And Kate rose, feeling angry and wicked, and ready to wound, she could not tell why.