‘If you will, Miss Kate—as you would be kind to one who does not care very much what happens to him! You are kind, I know—and you love her!’
The tears came to Kate’s eyes. She grew warm and red all over, throwing off, as it were, in a moment, the palsy of cold and misery that had come over her.
‘Yes,’ she said suddenly, ‘I love her,’ and cried. Mr. Sugden looked on, not knowing why.
Kate felt herself changed as in a moment; she felt—nay, she was herself again. What did it matter whether they loved her?—she loved them. That was, after all, what she had most to do with. She dried her tears, and she told her story, straight off, like a tale she had been taught, missing nothing. And he drank it all in to the end, not missing a word. When she had finished he sat silent, with a sombre countenance, and not a syllable was spoken between them for ten minutes at least. Then he said aloud, as if not talking, but thinking,
‘The question is which?’ Then he raised his eyes and looked at her. ‘Which?’ he repeated.
Kate grew pale again, and felt a choking in her throat. She bowed her head, as if she were accepting her fate.
‘Mr. Bertie Hardwick!’ she said.
CHAPTER LX.
This strange little incident, which at the moment it was occurring seemed to be perfectly natural, but as soon as that moment was over became inexplicable, dropped into Kate’s life as a stone drops into water. It made a curious commotion and a bustle for the moment, and stirred faintly for a little while afterwards, and then disappeared, and was thought of no more.