Bertie Hardwick was puzzled, and he was dazzled too. His first meeting with her had made no small impression upon him; and now Kate was almost a full-grown woman, and the brightness about her dazzled his eyes.
‘It cannot be you now,’ he said. ‘It is—let.’
Kate gave a fierce little cry, and clenched her hands.
‘Oh! Uncle Courtenay, I wish I could just kill you!’ she said, half to herself.
‘It is let, for four or five years, to the only kind of people who can afford to have great houses now—to Mr. Donkin, who has a large—shop in town.’
Kate moaned again, but then recovered herself.
‘I don’t see that it matters much about the shop. I think if I were obliged to work, I should not mind keeping a shop. It would be such fun! But, oh! if Uncle Courtenay were only here!’
‘It is better not. There might be bloodshed, and you would regret it after,’ said Bertie, gravely.
‘Don’t laugh at me; I mean it. And, if you won’t tell me anything about Langton, tell me about yourself. Who is he? What does he mean by being so like you? He is different when he talks; but at the first glance—— Why do you allow any one to be so like you, Mr. Bertie? If he is not nice, as you said——’
‘I did not mean you to believe me,’ said Bertie. ‘He is the best fellow going. I wish I were half as good, or half as clever. He is my cousin, and just like my brother. Why, I am proud of being like him. We are taken for each other every day.’