Part 13 (2/2)

”I said they were mean, despicable liars, especially Polly, considering how much you have done for her! And I said that if ever I had the chance--”

”But what did _they_ say?” interrupted Katharine.

”Oh, bother! what does it matter? They are a pack of mean sneaks. They said you were never in to lunch now, or supper either; and Polly was sure she had seen you walking with some one, only yesterday evening, and that you went into a restaurant with him; and she declares you see him every day, and that you are going all wrong. I said I should like to kill her. And they all said you must have gone wrong, because you are never in to supper now. I said I should like to kill them all for telling such a false lie, whether it was true or not! It isn't their business whether you choose to come in to supper or not, is it? And then you came in, and-- Why, whatever is the joke now? Mercy me; I thought you would be furious!”

For, of course, it was not to be supposed that she should know why Katharine was rolling on her bed in a paroxysm of laughter.

But the holidays came at last, and she congratulated herself proudly on not having given in once. She left school on the last day of the term with a light heart; everything had made her laugh that morning, from the children's jubilation at the coming holiday, to Mrs.

Downing's characteristic farewell. ”Don't overwork in the holidays, my dear Miss Austen,” she had said, shaking Katharine warmly by both hands. ”You look quite worn out; I am afraid you take things a little too seriously, do you not? When you have had _my_ experience in school work, you will think nothing of a cla.s.s like yours! Perhaps you do not eat enough? Take my advice, and try maltine; it is an excellent tonic for the appet.i.te!” And Katharine walked out into the suns.h.i.+ne and the warm air, with a feeling of joy at the thought of the cheque she was to receive on the morrow. There was only one more day of privation for her; and she called herself greedy for thinking about it, and laughed at her own greediness, all in the same breath. She might easily have humbled her pride and gone home to lunch like a rational being, now that she saw her way to paying for it; but such a weakness as that never entered her head for a moment, and she walked gaily on instead, weaving a rosy dream of the feast she would have if her pocket were full of money. But it was nearly empty, and she only found twopence there when she put her hand in to feel; and she jingled the coppers together, and laughed again, and hurried on a little faster. At Hyde Park Corner a beggar pursued her with his studied tale of distress: he had no home, he whined, and he had eaten nothing for days. ”Just my case,” said Katharine cheerfully, and a spirit of recklessness impelled her to drop the two pennies into his grimy palm, and then hasten on as before.

”Well met,” said a voice behind her. ”But what a hurry you are in, to be sure! Where are you off to, now?”

She looked round and saw Paul Wilton, smiling unaffectedly at her in a way that recalled the old days at Ivingdon. Perhaps, the fine day had influenced him too; certainly, he had not been starving for a fortnight, nor would he have seen the humour of it, probably, if he had. But these reflections did not occur to Katharine; it was enough for her that he looked more pleased than usual, and that his manner had lost its constraint.

”I am not going anywhere. The spring has got into my head, that's all; and I felt obliged to walk. Besides, it is the first day of my first holidays!” and she laughed out joyously.

”Yes? You look very jolly over it, any way. Have you lunched yet?”

”Yes,--I mean, no. I don't want any lunch to-day,” she said hastily.

”Don't let us talk about lunch; it spoils it so.”

”But, my dear child, I really must talk about it. I have had nothing to eat since supper last night, and I am going to have some lunch now.

You've got to come along, too, so don't make any more objections. I'm not a healthy young woman like you, and I can't eat my three courses at breakfast, and then fast until it is time to spoil my digestion by afternoon tea. Where shall we go? Suppose you stop chuckling for a moment and make a suggestion.”

”But I don't know any places, and I don't really want anything to eat,” protested Katharine. She would not have been so independent, if she had been a little less hungry. ”There's a confectioner's along here, that always looks rather nice,” she added, remembering one she had often pa.s.sed lately with a lingering look, at its attractive contents.

”Nonsense! that's only a shop. Have you ever been in here?”

Katharine confessed that she had never lunched at a restaurant before; and the savoury smell that greeted them as they entered reminded her how very hungry she was, and drove away her last impulse to object.

”Never? Why, what has Ted been up to? Now, you have got to say what you like; this is your merrymaking, you know, because it is the first day of the holidays.”

”Oh, but I can't; you must do all that, _please_. You don't know how beautiful it is to be taken care of again.”

”Is it?” They smiled at each other across the little table, and the old understanding sprang up between them.

”You're looking very charming,” he said, when he had given the waiter his preliminary instructions. ”You may abuse the food at your place as much as you like, but it certainly seems to agree with you.”

”I don't think,” said Katharine carelessly, ”that it has anything to do with the food.”

”Of course not; my mistake. No doubt it is natural charm triumphing over difficulties. Try some of this, to begin with; bootlaces or sardines?”

Katharine looked perplexed.

”What a delightful child you are,” he laughed. ”It's to give you an appet.i.te for the rest. I advise the bootlaces. Nonsense! you must do as you are told, for a change. I am not one of your pupils. Besides, it is the first day of the holidays.”

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