‘Mr. Courtenay, you are not like the rest of my friends. I have not heard all your good things, nor all your news, as I have theirs. You are a real comfort to talk to, and I did not have the good of you at dinner. Sit by me, please, and tell me something new. Nobody does,’ she added, with a little flutter of her fan,—‘nobody ever seems to think that fresh fare is needful sometimes. Let us talk of Kate.’
‘If I am bound to confine myself to that subject,’ said the old man of society, ‘I reserve the question whether it is kind to remind me thus broadly that I am a Methuselah.’
‘Oh! I am a Methusela myself, without the h,’ said Lady Caryisfort. ‘The young people interest me in a gentle, grandmotherly way. I like to see them enjoy themselves, and all that.’
‘Precisely,’ said Mr. Courtenay. ‘I quite understand and perceive the appropriateness of the situation. You are interested in that, for example?’ he said, suddenly changing his tone, and indicating a group at the other side of the room. Kate, with some flowers in her hand, which had dropped from the bouquet still in her bosom, with her head drooping over them, and a vivid blush on her cheek—while Count Antonio, bending over her, seemed asking for the flowers, with a hand half extended, and stooping so low that his handsome head was close to hers. This attitude was so prettily suggestive of something asked and granted, that a bewildered blush flushed up upon Lady Caryisfort’s delicate face at the sight. She turned to her old companion with a startled look, in which there was something almost like pain.
‘Well?’ she said, with mingled excitement, surprise, and defiance, which he did not understand.
‘I don’t think it is well,’ he said. ‘Will you tell me—and pardon an old disagreeable guardian for asking—how far this has gone?’
‘You see as well as I do,’ she said, with a little laugh; and then, changing her tone—‘But, however far it is gone, I have nothing to do with it. It seems extremely careless on my part; but I give you my word, Mr. Courtenay, I never really noticed it till to-night.’
This was true enough, notwithstanding that she had perceived the dangers of the situation, and warned both parties against it at the outset. For up to this moment she had not seen the least trace of emotion on the part of Kate.
‘Nothing could make me doubt a lady’s word,’ said the old man; ‘but one knows that in such matters the code of honour is held lightly.’
‘I am not holding it lightly,’ she said, with sudden fire; and then, pausing with an effort—‘It is true I had not noticed it before. Kate is so frank and so young; such ideas never seem to occur to one in connection with her. But, Mr. Courtenay, Count Buoncompagni is no adventurer. He may be poor, but he is—honourable—good——’