Part 4 (1/2)

”She thought you were awfully plucky and all that; she told me so. I was rather sick about it, of course; but, after all, it wasn't really worth minding because you were hit up so completely, you see.”

”You are a singularly brutal pair of young people,” observed Paul, glancing from one to the other. ”I should like you to have the feel of my leg for half an hour. I fancy you would find yourselves 'hit up,'

as you are pleased to call it.”

”Oh, but we're not a bit brutal,” objected Katharine. ”Ted never can help saying what he thinks at the moment,--that's how it is. It's because he shows all his feelings, don't you see?”

”You mustn't think Kitty is unfeeling because she doesn't say things,”

continued Ted. ”She hates spoofing people, and she never says things she doesn't mean. She doesn't always say them when she does mean them; it's rather rough on a fellow sometimes, I think,” he added feelingly.

The garden gate swung to, and they sprang to their feet simultaneously.

”Shall we scoot?” asked Ted, who seemed the more apprehensive of the two.

”I suppose so. Bother!” said Katharine regretfully. Ted was already gone, but she still lingered. The flying visit to Paul, instead of satisfying her curiosity about him, had only roused it still more; and she sauntered half absently towards him, without the least pretence of being in a hurry to go.

”Good-bye,” she said, and put her hand into his. It was the first time she had shown any signs of shyness, and Paul began to like her better.

”Not good-bye,” he said lightly. ”You will come in again, won't you?

We shall have a good lot to tell each other.”

”Shall we?”

”Well, don't you think so?” He dropped her hand and laughed. It seemed absurd that this child, who behaved generally like a charming tomboy, should persist in taking him seriously when he merely wanted to frivol.

”I'll come if it won't bore you,” said Katharine shortly. She was wondering what there was to laugh at.

”Can you write a tolerable hand?” he asked.

”I write all daddy's things for him.”

”Then we'll see if something can't be arranged,” he began. He congratulated himself on his tact in helping to gratify her evident wish to see him again; but she baffled him once more by suddenly brightening up, and seizing upon his suggestion before he had half formed it.

”Could I be your secretary, do you mean? Why, of course I could. What fun! Aunt Esther? Oh, that's nothing. _I_ will manage Aunt Esther.

Good-bye.”

She managed Aunt Esther very effectually at supper time, by calmly announcing her intention of becoming Mr. Wilton's secretary. And the Rector's sister, who was a curious compound of conventional dogma and worldly ignorance, and knew into the bargain that it was of no use to withstand her headstrong niece, gave in to her newest whim with a bad grace.

”Do as you like; I am no longer the head of the house, I suppose,” she observed fretfully.

”Oh, yes, you are, Aunt Esther!” retorted Katharine with provoking cheerfulness. ”_I_ only want to be Mr. Wilton's secretary.”

Paul was not so elated as she had expected to find him, when she walked into his room in Miss Esther's wake on the following day, and told him that she had gained her point and was ready to become his secretary. Being such a responsive creature herself, she always expected every one else to share her emotions.

”Aren't you glad?” she asked him anxiously.

Not being able to explain that what he wanted was not so much a secretary as a pretty girl to amuse him, he said with his usual smile that he was delighted, and proceeded to dictate various uninteresting letters of a business-like character.

”So you live in the Temple,” she observed, as she folded up a letter to his housekeeper. ”Isn't it a gloriously romantic place to live in?”