“I read, made puddings, worked samplers, cut out and sewed my dresses, and learned lessons with Nancy Levett.”
“The pretty little girl who is always laughing? She should always remain young—never grow old and grave. What else did you do?”
“We had a choir for the Sunday psalms—many people came every Sunday to hear us sing. That was another occupation. Then I used to ride with the boys, or sometimes we would go fishing, or nutting, or black-berrying—oh! there was plenty to do, and the days were never too long.”
“A better education than most ladies can show,” he replied, with his quiet air of authority.
“And you, my lord. Do you never play cards?”
“No,” he replied. “Pray do not question me further on my favourite vices, Miss Kitty. I would not confess all my sins even to so charming and so kind a confessor as yourself.”
“I forgive you, my lord,” I said, “beforehand. Especially if you promise to abandon them all.”
“There are sins,” he said slowly, “which sometimes leave behind them consequences which can never be forgotten or undone.”
Alas! I knew what he meant. His sin had left him burdened with a wife—a creature who had been so wicked as to take advantage of his wickedness; a woman whom he feared to hear of and already loathed. Poor wife! poor sinner! poor Kitty!