'Thank you for your suggestion, Laura; but be assured if ever I do marry, Miss Grimshaw will not be my choice.'
He shudders as memory recalls to his mind the lank figure of the very elderly lady his daughter commends to his notice. He recalls the faded face, the thin wiry curls, the lymphatic eyes, the bleating plausible voice, with which, in the calmest manner, she is wont to gossip over the frailties of her neighbours, and pass hard judgments on those who are younger and more attractive than herself. Then his thoughts revert to Katherine Grey. Whatever her faults may be, fortunately they are all the very opposite of Miss Grimshaw's: mind and body are altogether formed in a very different mould. After this, the conversation comes to a close, and father and daughter separate—she to lament over the Admiral's infatuation; he to wander for an hour or two more through the dimly lighted empty suite of rooms.
Laura's words have moved him strangely. His pulse quickens as he remembers that what has been to him a half-formed purpose, a whispered secret, is already the town's talk, and that everybody is watching to see what will come next.
Has Katie herself heard of these reports, and begun to trace out the shadow of possible coming events? Would she be very much surprised if he tried to give these airy rumours a solid foundation?
Such is the train of thought which floats through Sir Herbert's mind long after the great house is closed for the night, and left apparently to sleep and silence. He hears the measured tramp of the sentry on the cold damp pavement outside; the distant sound of the ships' bells in the harbour, as it is borne in by the wintry blast; and the musical peals from the church steeples that chime the small morning hours; but the question still rings its changes in his mind and finds no satisfactory answer.
CHAPTER V.—THE QUESTION ANSWERED.
The next morning Katie takes up her position at her father's writing-table. She has a letter to answer—a very confidential one from her friend and confidant, Liddy Delmere—and she feels bound to return confidence for confidence. Ere the epistle is finished, she starts up and thrusts it into her desk. Her eyes have been constantly wandering from the paper to the cold slippery streets, where people are jostling against each other as they make their way through the showers of falling sleet and gusts of rough wind. Surely no one would venture out except in a case of absolute necessity; yet the girl evidently expects some one; and by the rapid closing of her desk, no doubt the 'somebody' is in sight.
A tall upright figure may be observed emerging from the crowds of passers-by; an officer, by the gold buttons on his rough outside coat. Guiding his umbrella skilfully, Sir Herbert walks quickly on, and soon Katie hears his well-known knock at the door, and his well-known step in the hall, as he takes his way to her father's library downstairs.
'He will come up here presently with some apology to me, or I'm much mistaken,' muses Kate, as she takes a swift look at herself in the glass; and ere long the door is thrown open, and Sir Herbert Dillworth announced. He glances quickly round the room, and this is what he sees: a pretty, well-harmonised interior, a blending of soft warm colours, and a blazing fire in the grate, that reflects itself in the polished steel surrounding it. And Kate Grey, the brightest point of the whole scene, is sitting beside the writing-table, and looking up with a smile to greet him. She wears a morning dress of ruby Cashmere, and a single knot of the same colour in the thick rolls of her dark hair. There is not a shadow of resentment in those lustrous eyes as she holds out her hand, frankly and pleasantly, to her visitor. Feeling perfectly self-possessed herself, she owns to a degree of satisfaction as she notices how disturbed Sir Herbert looks. The fact is his daughter's words are still ringing in his memory—'People say you mean to make her your second wife'—and he is wondering what Katie herself would say on such a subject. Will she ignore the dreary barrier of years that lies between them? Will she forget that he has gone some distance farther on in life's journey, while she is in the very prime and flush of girlhood? These thoughts flash through his mind, and make him appear nervous and absent as he begins to talk about last night's party. But his mind is made up.
'We missed you, Miss Grey. Will you pardon us that you had no invitation? My daughter is not much accustomed to sending them out.'