KATE took it upon herself to make unusual preparations for the supper on that particular evening. She decorated the table with her own hands, and coaxed Francesca to the purchase of various dainties beyond the ordinary.
‘They will be tired; they will want something when they come back,’ she said.
‘Mademoiselle is very good; it is angelic to be so kind after what has passed—after the affair of the morning,’ said Francesca. ‘If I had been in Mademoiselle’s place, I do not think I should have been able to show so much education. For my part, it has yet to be explained to me how my lady could go to amuse herself and leave Mees Katta alone here.’
‘Francesca, don’t talk nonsense,’ said Kate. ‘I quite approve what my aunt did. She is always right, whatever anyone may think.’
‘It is very likely, Mees Katta,’ said Francesca; ‘but I shall know ze why, or I will not be happy. It is not like my lady. She is no besser than a slave with her Ombra. But I shall know ze why; I shall know ze reason why!’
‘Then don’t tell me, please, for I don’t wish to be cross again,’ said Kate, continuing her preparations. ‘Only I do hope they won’t bring Lady Barker with them,’ she added to herself. Lady Barker was the scapegoat upon whom Kate spent her wrath. She forgave the other, but her she had made up her mind not to forgive. It was night when the party came home. Kate rushed to the balcony to see them arrive, and looked on; without, however, making her presence known. There was but lamplight this time, but enough to show how Ombra sprang out of the carriage, and how thoroughly the air of a successful expedition hung about the party. ‘Well!’ said Kate to herself, ‘and I have had a pleasant day too.’ She ran to the door to welcome them, but, perhaps, made her appearance inopportunely. Ombra was coming upstairs hand in hand with some one—it was not like her usual gravity—and when the pair saw the door open they separated, and came up the remaining steps each alone. This was odd, and startled Kate. Then, when she asked, ‘Have you had a pleasant day?’ some one answered, ‘The most delightful day that ever was!’ with an enthusiasm that wounded her feelings—she could not tell why. Was it indeed Bertie Hardwick who said that? he who had spoken so differently in the morning? Kate stood aghast, and asked no more questions. She would have let the two pass her, but Ombra put an arm round her waist and drew her in.
‘Oh Kate, listen, I am so happy!’ said Ombra, whispering in her ear. ‘Don’t be vexed about anything, dear; you shall know it all afterwards. I am so happy!’
This was said in the little dark ante-room, where there were no lights, and Kate could only give her cousin a hasty kiss before she danced away. Bertie, for his part, in the dark, too, said nothing at all. He did not explain the phrase—‘The most delightful day that ever was!’ ‘Well!’ said poor Kate to herself, gulping down a little discomfort—‘well! I have had a pleasant day too.’
And then what a gay supper it was!—gayer than usual; gayer than she had ever known it! She did not feel as if she were quite in the secret of their merriment. They had been together all day, while she had been alone; they had all the jokes of the morning to carry on, and a hundred allusions which fell flat upon Kate. She had been put on her generosity, it was true, and would not, for the world, have shown how much below the general tone of hilarity she was; but she was not in the secret, and very soon she felt ready to flag. When she put in her experiences of the day, a momentary polite attention was given, but everybody’s mind was elsewhere. Mrs. Anderson had a half-frightened, half-puzzled look, and now and then turned affecting glances upon Kate; but Ombra was radiant. Never had she looked so beautiful; her eyes shone like two stars; her faint rose-colour went and came; her face was lit with soft smiles and happiness. All sorts of fancies crossed Kate’s mind. She looked at the young men, who were both in joyous spirits—but either her discrimination failed her, or her eyes were dim, or her understanding clouded. Altogether Kate was in a maze, and did not know what to do or think; they stayed till it was very late, and both Ombra and her mother went to close and lock the door after them when they went away, leaving Kate once more alone. She sat still at a corner of the table, and listened to the voices and laughter still at the door. Bertie Hardwick’s voice, she thought, was the one she heard most. They were all so happy, and she only listening to it, not knowing what it meant! Then, when the door was finally locked, Mrs. Anderson came back to her alone. ‘Ombra has gone to bed,’ she said. ‘She is tired, though she has enjoyed it so very much. And, my dear child, you must go to bed too. It is too late for you to be up.’
‘But you have had a very pleasant day.’
‘They have—oh yes!’ said Mrs Anderson. ‘The young ones have been very happy; but it has not been a pleasant day to me. I have so many anxieties; and then to think of you by yourself at home.’
‘I was not by myself,’ said Kate. Lady Caryisfort called and took me out.’
‘Ah! Lady Caryisfort is very kind,’ said Mrs. Anderson, with a tone, however, in which there was neither delight nor gratitude; and then she put her arm round her niece, and leaned upon her. ‘Ah!’ she said again, ‘I can see how it will be! They will wean you away from me. You who have never given me a moment’s uneasiness, who have been such a good child to me! I suppose it must be so—and I ought not to complain.’
‘But, auntie,’ said Kate, bewildered, ‘nobody tries to take me from you—nobody wants me, that I know of—even you——’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Anderson, ‘even I. I know. And I shall have to put up with that too. Oh! Kate, I know more than one of us will live to regret this day;—but nobody so much as I.’
‘I don’t understand you. Auntie, you are over-tired. You ought to be asleep.’
‘You will understand me some time,’ said Mrs. Anderson, ‘and then you will recollect what I said. But don’t ask me any questions, dear. Good-night.’
Good night! She had been just as happy as any of the party, Kate reflected, half an hour before, and her voice had been audible from the door, full of pleasantness and the melody of content. Was the change a fiction, got up for her own benefit, or was there something mysterious lying under it all? Kate could not tell, but it may be supposed how heart-sick and weary she was when such an idea as that her dearest friend had put on a semblance to deceive her, could have entered her mind. She was very, very much ashamed of it, when she woke in the middle of the night, and it all came back to her. But what was she to think? It was the first mystery Kate had encountered, and she did not know how to deal with it. It made her very uneasy and unhappy, and shook her faith in everything. She lay awake for half an hour pondering it; and that was as much to Kate as a week of sleepless nights would have been to many, for up to this time she had no need to wake o’ nights, nor anything to weigh upon her thoughts when she woke.
Next morning, however, dissipated these mists, as morning does so often. Ombra was very gay and bright, and much more affectionate and caressing than usual. Kate and she, indeed, seemed to have changed places—the shadow had turned into sunshine. It was Ombra who led the talk, who rippled over into laughter, who petted her cousin and her mother, and was the soul of everything. All Kate’s doubts and difficulties fled before the unaccustomed tenderness of Ombra’s looks and words. She had no defence against this unexpected means of subjugation, and for some time she even forgot that no explanation at all was given to her of the events of the previous day. It had been ‘a pleasant day,’ ‘a delightful day,’ the walk had been perfect, ‘and everything else,’ Ombra had said at breakfast, ‘except that you were not with us, Kate.’
‘And that we could not help,’ said Mrs. Anderson, into whose face a shade of anxiety had crept. But she was not as she had been in that mysterious moment on the previous night. There was no distress about her. She had nearly as much happiness in her eyes as that which ran over and overflowed in Ombra’s. Had Kate dreamed that last five minutes, and its perplexing appearances? But Mrs. Anderson made no explanations any more than Ombra. They chatted about the day’s entertainment, their hosts, and many things which Kate could only half understand, but they did not say, ‘We are so happy because of this or that.’ Through all this affectionateness and tenderness this one blank remained, and Kate could not forget it. They told her nothing. She was left isolated, separated, outside of some magic circle in which they stood.
The young men joined them very early, earlier even than usual; and then this sense of separation became stronger and stronger in Kate’s mind. Would they never have done talking of yesterday? The only thing that refreshed her spirit a little was when she announced the engagement Lady Caryisfort had made—‘for us all,’ Kate said, feeling a little conscious, and pleasantly so, that she herself was, in this case, certainly to be the principal figure—to visit the Buoncompagni palace. Bertie Hardwick roused up immediately at the mention of this.
‘Palace indeed!’ he said. ‘It is a miserable old house, all mildewed and moth-eaten! What should we do there?’
‘I am going, at least,’ said Kate, ‘with Lady Caryisfort. Count Buoncompagni said there were some nice pictures; and I like old houses, though you may not be of my opinion. Auntie, you will come?’
‘Miss Courtenay’s taste is peculiar,’ said Bertie. ‘One knows what an old palace, belonging to an impoverished family, means in Italy. It means mouldy hangings, horrible old frescoes, furniture (and very little of that) crumbling to pieces, and nothing in good condition but the coat of arms. Buoncompagni is quite a type of the class—a young, idle, do-nothing fellow, as noble as you like, and as poor as Job; good for leading a cotillion, and for nothing else in this world; and living in his mouldy old palace, like a snail in its shell.’
‘I don’t think you need to be so severe,’ said Kate, with flashing eyes. ‘If he is poor, it is not his fault; and he is not ashamed of it, as some people are. And, indeed, I don’t think you young men work so very hard yourselves as to give you a right to speak.’
This was a blow most innocently given, but it went a great deal deeper than Kate had supposed. Bertie’s countenance became crimson; he was speechless; he could make no reply; and, like every man whose conscience is guilty, he felt sure that she meant it, and had given him this blow on purpose. It was a strange quarter to be assailed from; but yet, what else could it mean? He sat silent, and bit his nails, and remembered Mr. Sugden, and asked himself how it was that such strange critics had been moved against him. We have said that this episode was refreshing to Kate; but not so were the somewhat anxious arrangements which followed on Mrs. Anderson’s part, ‘for carrying out Kate’s plan, which would be delightful.’
‘I always like going over an old palace,’ she said, with a certain eagerness; ‘and if you gentlemen have not done it already, I am sure it will be worth your while.’
But there was very little response from anyone; and in a few minutes more the interruption seemed to be forgotten, and they had all resumed their discussion of the everlasting history of the previous day. Once more Kate felt her isolation, and after awhile she escaped silently from the room. She did not trust herself to go to her own chamber, but retired to the chilly dining-room, and sat down alone over her Italian, feeling rather desolate. She tried to inspire herself with the idea of putting the Italian into practice, and by the recollection of Count Antonio’s pretty compliments to her on the little speeches she ventured to make in answer to his questions. ‘I must try not to make any mistakes this time,’ she said to herself; but after five minutes she stopped and began thinking. With a conscious effort she tried to direct her mind to the encounter of yesterday—to Lady Caryisfort and Count Buoncompagni; but somehow other figures would always intrude; and a dozen times at least she roused up sharply, as from a dream, and found herself asking again, and yet again, what had happened yesterday? Was it something important enough to justify concealment? Was it possible, whatever it was, that it could be concealed from her? What was it? Alas! poor Count Antonio was but the ghost whom she tried to think of; while these were the real objects that interested her. And all the time the party remained in the drawing-room, not once going out. She could hear their voices now and then when a door was opened. They stayed indoors all the morning—a thing which had never happened before. They stayed to luncheon. In the afternoon they all went out walking together; but even that was not as of old. A change had come over everything—the world itself seemed different; and what was worst of all was that this change was pleasant to all the rest and melancholy only to Kate. She said to herself, wistfully, ‘No doubt I would be pleased as well as the rest if only I knew.’