‘You too are out early, aunt.’
‘That is true; but it is not an answer,’ said Mrs. Anderson with a flush that rose over all her face.
And the two young men stood irresolute, as if they did not know whether to go or stay. Bertie Eldridge, it seemed to Kate, wore his usual indifferent look. He was always blasé and languid, and did not give himself much trouble about anything; but Bertie Hardwick was much agitated. He turned white, and he turned red, and he gave Kate looks which she could not understand. It seemed to her as if he were always trying to apologise and explain with his eyes; and what right had Bertie Hardwick to think that she wanted anything explained or cared what he did? She was angry, she did not quite know why—angry and wounded—hurt as if some one had struck her, and she did not care to stop and ask or answer questions. She followed Mrs. Anderson upstairs, listening doubtfully to Francesca’s voluble explanation—how Mademoiselle had been disturbed by some sounds in the house, ‘possibly my lady herself, though I was far from thinking so when I left,’ said Francesca, pointedly; and how Mees Katta had insisted upon going to mass with her?
Mrs. Anderson shook her head, but turned round to Kate at the door with a softened look, which had something in it akin to Bertie’s. She kissed Kate, though the girl half averted her face.
‘I do not blame you, my dear, but your uncle might not like it. You must not go again,’ she said, thus gently placing the inferior matter in the first place.
And they went in, to find the fire in the ante-room burning all alone, as when Kate had left, and the calm little house looking in its best order, as if nothing had ever happened there.
CHAPTER LII.
That was a curious day—a day full of strange excitement and suppressed feeling—suppressed on all sides, yet betraying itself in some unexplainable way. Mrs. Anderson made no explanation whatever of her early expedition—at least to Kate; she did not even refer to it. She gave her a little lecture at breakfast, while they sat alone together—for Ombra did not appear—about the inexpediency of going with Francesca to church. ‘I know that you did not mean anything, my darling,’ she said, tenderly; ‘but it is very touching to see the poor people at their prayers, and I have known a girl to be led away so, and to desert her own church. Such an idea must never be entertained for you; you are not a private individual, Kate—you are a woman with a great stake in the country, an example to many——’
‘Oh, I am so tired of hearing that I have a stake in the country!’ cried Kate, who at that moment, to tell the truth, was sick of everything, and loathed her life heartily, and everything she heard and saw.