On that same morning, and about the same hour, a scene of remarkable
parallelism was passing at Mount Welcome. Loftus Vaughan was holding
dialogue with his daughter, as Jacob Jessuron with Judith--the subject
very similar--the motives of planter and penn-keeper equally mean.
"You have sent for me, papa?" said Kate, entering the great hall in
obedience to a summons from her father.
"Yes, Catherine," replied Mr Vaughan, in a tone of unwonted gravity.
The grave tone was not needed. The "Catherine" was enough to tell Kate
that her father was in one of his serious moods: for it was only when in
this vein, that he ever pronounced her baptismal name in full.
"Sit down there," he proceeded, pointing to a fauteuil in front of where
he was himself seated. "Sit down, my daughter, and listen: I have
something of importance to say to you."
The young lady obeyed in silence, and not without a little of that
reluctant _gaucherie_ which patients display when seating themselves in
front of a physician, or a naughty child composing itself to listen to
the parental lecture.
The natural gaiety of "Lilly Quasheba" was not easily restrained; and
though the unusual gravity depicted in her father's face might have
checked it, the formality with which he was initiating the interview had
an opposite effect. At the corners of her pretty little mouth might
have been observed something that resembled a smile.
Her father did observe something that resembled it.
"Come, Catherine!" said he, reprovingly, "I have called you out to talk
over a serious matter. I expect you to listen seriously, as becomes the
subject."
"Oh! papa, how can I be serious, till I know the subject? You are not
ill, I hope?"
"Tut, no--no. It has nothing to do with my health--which, thank
Providence, is good enough--nor yours neither. It is our wealth, not
our health, that is concerned--our wealth, Catherine!"
The last phrase was uttered with emphasis, and in a confidential way, as
if to enlist his daughter's sympathies upon the subject.
"Our wealth, papa? I hope nothing has happened? You have had no
losses?"
"No, child," replied Mr Vaughan, now speaking in a fond, parental tone;
"nothing of the sort, thanks to fortune, and perhaps a little to my own
prudence. It is not losses I am thinking about, but gains."
"Gains!"
"Ay, gains--gains, Catherine, which you can assist me in obtaining."
"I, papa? How could I assist you? I know nothing of business--I am
sure I know nothing."
"Business! ha! ha! It's not business, Kate. The part which you will
have to play will be one of pleasure--I hope so, at least."
"Pray tell me what it is, papa! I am sure I'm fond of pleasure at all
times--everybody knows that."
"Catherine!" said her father, once more adopting the grave tone, "do you
know how old you are?"
"Certainly, papa! at least, what I have been told. Eighteen--just past
last birthday."
"And do you know what young girls should, and generally do, think about,
when they come to be of that age?"
Kate either affected or felt profound ignorance of the answer she was
expected to make.
"Come!" said Mr Vaughan, banteringly, "you know what I mean,
Catherine?"
"Indeed, papa, I do not. You know I keep no secrets from you; you
taught me not. If I had any, I would tell them to you."
"I know you're a good girl, Kate. I know you would. But that is a sort
of secret I should hardly expect you to declare--even to me, your
father."
"Pray what is it, papa?"
"Why, at your age, Kate, most girls--and it is but right and natural
they should--take to thinking about a young man."
"Oh! that is what you mean! Then I can answer you, papa, that I _have_
taken to thinking about one."
"Ha!" ejaculated Mr Vaughan, in a tone of pleased surprise; "you have,
have you?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Kate, with an air of the most innocent
_naivete_. "I have been thinking of one--and so much, that he is scarce
ever out of my mind."
"Ha!" said the Custos, repeating his exclamation of surprise, and rather
taken aback by a confession so unexpectedly candid. "Since how long has
this been, my child?"
"Since how long?" rejoined Kate, musingly.
"Yes. When did you first begin to think of this young man?"
"Oh! the day before yesterday, after dinner--ever since I first saw him,
father."
"_At_ dinner you first saw him," said Mr Vaughan, correcting his
daughter. "But, no matter for that," he continued, gleefully rubbing
his hands together, and not noticing the puzzled expression upon Kate's
countenance. "It might be, that you did not think of him in the first
moments of your introduction. It's not often people do. A little
bashfulness has to be got over. And so then, Kate, you like him now--
you think you like him now?"
"Oh! father, you may be sure I do--better than any one I ever saw--
excepting yourself, dear papa."
"Ah! my little chit, that's a different sort of liking--altogether
different. The one's love--the other is but filial affection--each very
well in its place. Now, as you're a good girl, Kate, I have a bit of
pleasant news for you."
"What is it, papa?"
"I don't know whether I should tell you or not," said the Custos,
playfully patting his daughter upon the cheek; "at least, not now, I
think. It might make you too happy."
"Oh, papa! I have told you what you wished me; and I see it has made
you happy. Surely you will not conceal what you say will do the same
for me? What is the news?"
"Listen, then, Kate!"
Mr Vaughan bending forward, as if to make his communication more
impressive, pronounced in a whisper:--
"He reciprocates your feeling--_he likes you_!"
"Father, I fear he does not," said the young Creole, with a serious air.
"He does--I tell you so, girl. He's over head and ears in love with
you. I know it. In fact, I saw it from the first minute. A blind man
might have perceived it; but then a blind man can see better than a
young lady that's in love. Ha! ha! ha!"
Loftus Vaughan laughed long and loudly at the jest he had so
unexpectedly perpetrated: for at that moment he was in the very mood for
merriment. His dearest dream was about to be realised. Montagu Smythje
was in love with his daughter. That he knew before. Now his daughter
had more than half admitted--in fact, quite confessed--that she liked
Smythje; and what was _liking_ but _love_?
"Yes, Kate," said he, as soon as his exultation had to some extent
subsided, "you are blind, you little silly--else you might have seen it
before. His behaviour would show how much he cares for you."
"Ah! father, I think that his behaviour would rather show that he cares
not for either of us. He is too proud to care for any one."
"What! too proud? Nonsense! it's only his way. Surely he has not shown
anything of that to you, Kate?"
"I cannot blame him," continued the young girl, still speaking in a
serious tone. "The fault was not his. Your treatment of him, father--
you must not be angry at me for telling you of it--now that I know all,
dear papa--was it not enough to make him act as he has done?"
"My treatment of him!" cried the Custos, with a self-justifying, but
puzzled look. "Why, child, you rave! I could not treat him better, if
I was to try ever so. I have done everything to entertain him, and make
him feel at home here. As to what _he_ has done, it's all nonsense
about his pride: at least, with us he has shown nothing of the kind. On
the contrary, he is acting admirably throughout the whole matter.
Certainly, no man could behave with more politeness to you than Mr
Smythje is doing?"
"Mr Smythje!"
The entrance of this gentleman at the moment prevented Mr Vaughan from
noticing the effect which the mention of his name had produced: an
unexpected effect, as might have been seen by the expression which
Kate's features had suddenly assumed.
But for that interruption--hindering the _eclaircissement_ which, no
doubt, his daughter would on the instant have made--Mr Vaughan might
have sat down to breakfast with his appetite considerably impaired.
His guest requiring all his attention, caused him to withdraw suddenly
from the dialogue; and he appeared neither to have heard the exclamatory
repetition of Smythje's name, nor the words uttered by Kate in a lower
tone, as she turned towards the table:--
"_I thought it was Herbert_!"
Volume One, Chapter XXXIV.