‘No, I have not spoken, not in so many words; but I have been understood,’ said Antonio, with that imbecile smile and blush of vanity which women know so well.
‘I think you may make yourself easy in that respect,’ said Lady Caryisfort. ‘Kate is not in love with you,’ a speech which almost undid what she had been labouring to do; for Antonio’s pride was up, and could scarcely be pacified. He had committed himself; he had given Kate to understand that he was her lover, and how was he now to withdraw? ‘If he proposes, she is a romantic child—no more than a child—and she is capable of accepting him,’ Lady Caryisfort said to his aunt in their last moment of consultation.
‘Leave him to me, cara mia,’ said the Countess—‘leave him to me.’ And that noble lady went away with her head full of new combinations. ‘The girl will not be of age for two years, and in that time anything may happen. It would be hard for you to wait two years, Antonio mio; let us think a little. I know another, young still, very handsome, and with everything in her own power——’
Antonio was indignant, and resented the suggestion; but Countess Strozzi was not impatient. She knew very well that to such arguments, in the long run, all Antonios yield.
Mr. Courtenay entered the drawing room in the Lung-Arno next day at noon, and found all the ladies there. Again the Berties were absent, but there was no cloud that morning upon Ombra’s face. Kate had made her appearance, looking pale and ill, and the hearts of her companions had been touched. They were compunctious and ashamed, and eager to make up for the neglect of which she had never complained. Even Ombra had kissed her a second time after the formal morning salutation, and had said ‘Forgive me!’ as she did so.
‘For what?’ said Kate, with the intention of being proud and unconscious. But when she had looked up, and met her aunt’s anxious look, and Ombra’s eyes with tears in them, her own overflowed. ‘Oh! I am so ill-tempered,’ she said, ‘and ungrateful. Don’t speak to me.’
‘You are just as I was a little while ago,’ said Ombra. ‘But, Kate, with you it is all delusion, and soon, very soon, you will know better. Don’t be as I was.’
As Ombra was! Kate dried her eyes, yet she did not know whether to be gratified or to be angry. Why should she be as Ombra had been? But yet even these few words brought about a better understanding. And the three were seated together, in the old way, when Mr. Courtenay entered. He had the air of a man full of business. In his hand he carried a packet of letters, some of which he had not yet opened.
‘I have just had letters from Langton,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you take any interest in Langton—or these ladies, who have never even seen it——’
‘Of course I do, uncle,’ cried Kate. ‘Take interest in my own house, my dear old home!’