"And you are a lady, Kitty--if not by birth at least by merit and by rank. If the world knew you by your proper title it would call you Countess of Loughton."
The sick woman stared at her husband as though unable to take in the meaning of his words. "I am the Earl of Loughton, Kitty, and you are my countess," he said. "The thing is simple enough."
"You tell me this and I am dying!" she said, after a minute's silence. "It is of little use to tell me now."
"The time was not ripe for you to be told before. Nor has the time yet come to tell it to the world."
"And Clement?"
"He knows nothing, and at present it would not be wise to tell him. It would only unsettle his mind and do him harm instead of good. When the proper time comes he will be told everything. At present I am working both for his interests and my own. A pretty thing it would be thought that Lord Shoreham, the son of the Earl of Loughton, should have to paint pictures for his bread and cheese! He had far better go on painting them as 'Clement Fildew' till he can afford to give up painting altogether."
"My dear boy a lord! It seems all a strange, foolish dream."
"It is a very simple reality. Clement is Lord Shoreham as surely as I am sitting by your side. But of this he must know nothing for some time to come."
"And I am Countess of Loughton! How wonderful it seems! But I could not have loved you more than I have had I known this all along. Perhaps I should not have loved you so much. God is good, and he orders everything for the best. I have been very happy, and the queen on her throne can't be more than that."
She closed her eyes and lay silent a little while, thinking over what she had just heard. "John, dear," she said after a time, "if you ever put a stone over my grave, will you say on it, 'Here lies Catharine, Countess of Loughton,' or will you say, 'Here lies Kitty, wife of John Fildew'?"