"I have accepted for us both from Thursday to Tuesday," said Palestrina firmly. "Oh, by-the-bye," she said, rising and going indoors, "I just sent a line to Dr. Fergus at the same time to say that you will look in and see him one morning, just to see that you are going on all right."
"You also were up early?" I said to the diplomat, who smiled at me from under her big umbrella without a vestige of shame at her own cunning. "I don't think it is fair on a crippled man to get up early and send off letters by the early post. It's a mean trick."
"You were up half the night," said Palestrina, nodding her head at me, "for I heard you." And she crossed the lawn and went indoors again.
The following Thursday we took train for Clarkham. I had never stayed in this part of the world before, till we came to visit Kate, and the suburb where she lives seems to me to be rather a pleasant place, with broad roads over whose walls and palings shrubs and red maples and other trees hang invitingly. And it is so near London that a very short run in the train takes one to Victoria Station. But the neighbourhood is not fashionable, and I cannot help remarking the apologetic tone in which every one we meet speaks of living here.
The Wards' house is a very nice little place, with very new wall-papers and very clean curtains and slippery floors, upon which art rugs slide dangerously. There is a small garden with a lawn and a brown hawthorn tree upon it, and there are two trim little maids who wait upon one excellently well. Kate is a thorough good manager, and her whole household reminds one of those pages on household management which one sees in magazines, describing the perfect equipment of a house—its management, and the rules to be observed by a young housekeeper.
There is a place for everything, and Kate says her wedding-presents are a great assistance in giving a home-like look to the house.
Mr. Ward leaves home at half-past nine every morning, and Kate shakes him into his coat in exactly the same way George used to be shaken into his, and stands at the hall-door with a bright smile on her face, until James has got into the morning bus and driven away, in a manner that is very wifely and commendable.
The unpretentious little household seems to be a very happy one, and Kate was quite satisfied with the praise which Palestrina bestowed upon everything.
"Of course," she said, "the great drawback is that the place is so unfashionable;" and we warmly protested against that being of the least consequence. But Kate said with her usual common sense: "It does matter, really. No one thinks anything of you if you live here, and nearly every one who has enough money always leaves directly. Still"—cheerfully—"one must expect some drawbacks, and I do think I have been very lucky. James is goodness itself, and quite a number of people have been to call."
We found to our dismay that Kate, with the laudable intention of amusing us, had accepted several invitations to what are called "the last of the summer gaieties." There were tea-parties and garden-parties given by her friends, to which we were expected to go; and her very nearest neighbours, who are generally known as the "Next Doors," actually invited us to dine.