Part 18 (2/2)
”I shan't suppose anything of the kind. She only pretends. We understand one another with our eyes. I know what girls are; and you give me my chance this afternoon, and she's mine. She's only holding off a bit, I tell you.”
”Perhaps you are right, my dear; but don't hurt her feelings by being too premature.”
”Too gammon! You do what I say, and soon. I don't want old Garstang back before we've got it all over. Keep dark; here they come.”
Kate entered with her uncle as soon as he had spoken, and Claud attacked her directly.
”Altered your mind?” he said.
”No, Claud; you must excuse me, please,” was the reply.
”All right. Off, father?”
”Yes, my boy. In about half an hour or so; I have two or three letters to write.”
”Two or three letters to write!” muttered the young man, as he went out into the veranda, to light his pipe, and keep on the watch for the coveted opportunity; ”haven't you any brains in your head?”
But James Wilton's half-hour proved to be an hour, and when, after seeing him off, the son returned to the hall, he heard voices in the drawing-room, and gave a vicious snarl.
”Why the devil don't she go?” he muttered.
There were steps the next moment, and he drew back into the dining-room to listen, the conversation telling him that his mother and cousin were going into the library to get some particular book.
There, to the young man's great disgust, they stayed, and he waited for quite half an hour trying to control his temper, and devise some plan for trying to get his mother away.
At last she appeared, saying loudly as she looked back, ”I shall be back directly, my dear,” and closed the door.
Claud appeared at once, and with a meaning smile at his mother, she crossed to the stairs, while as she ascended to her room the son went straight to the library and entered.
As he threw open the door he found himself face to face with his cousin, who, book in hand, was coming out of the room.
”Hallo!” he cried, with a peculiar laugh; ”Where's the old lady?”
”She has just gone to her room, Claud,” said Kate, quietly.
”Here, don't be in such a hurry, little one,” he cried, pus.h.i.+ng to the door. ”What's the matter?”
”Nothing,” she said, quietly, though her heart was throbbing heavily; ”I was going to take my book into the drawing-room.”
”Oh, bother the old books!” he cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing hers away, and catching her by the wrist; ”come and sit down; I want to talk to you.”
”You can talk to me in the drawing-room,” she said, trying hard to be firm.
”No, I can't; it's better here. I say, Kitty, when shall it be?”
”When shall what be?”
”Our wedding. You know.”
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