"Katherine!" gravely began the father, on stepping inside the kiosk.
"Father!"
The parental appellative was pronounced in a low murmur, the speaker not
uplifting her eyes from the object upon which she had been gazing.
That object was a small silken purse that lay upon the table.
Stringless it was, though the broken strands of a blue ribbon attached
to it showed that it had not always been so.
Loftus Vaughan knew not the history of that purse, neither why it lay
there, what had stripped it of its string, or why his daughter was so
sadly gazing upon it. This last circumstance he noticed on entering the
kiosk.
"Ah, your pretty purse!" said he, taking it up, and examining it more
minutely.
"Some one has torn the string from it--a pity! who can have done it?"
Little did he care for an answer. As little did he suspect that the
rape of that bit of ribbon had aught to do with his daughter's
dejection, which he had observed throughout the morning. The surprise
he had expressed, and the question put, were only intended to initiate
the more serious conversation he was about to introduce.
"Oh, papa! it don't signify," said Kate, avoiding a direct answer; "'tis
but a bit of ribbon. I can easily replace it by another."
Ah, Kate! you may easily replace the ribbon upon the purse, but not so
easily that peace of mind which parted from your bosom at the same time.
When that string was torn, torn, too, were the strings of your heart!
Some such reflection must have passed through her mind as she made the
reply; for the shadow visibly deepened over her countenance.
Mr Vaughan pursued the subject of the purse no further, but looking
through the lattice-work and perceiving Smythje in chase of the
butterflies, endeavoured to draw his daughter's attention to that
sportive gentleman.
This was the more easily done as Mr Smythje was at the moment humming a
tune, and could be heard as well as seen.
"`I'd be a butterfly,'--"
sang Smythje--
"`born in a bower,
Where lilies, and roses, and violets meet;
Sporting for ever, from flower to flower;
And--'"
And then, as if to contradict this pleasant routine of insect life, he
was at that instant seen seizing a splendid _vanessa_, and crushing the
frail creature between his kid-gloved fingers!
"Isn't he a superb fellow?" said Mr Vaughan, first gazing
enthusiastically on Smythje, and then fixing his eyes upon his daughter,
to note the character of the reply.
"I suppose he must be, papa--since everybody says so."
There was no enthusiasm in Kate's answer--nothing to encourage the
Custos.
"Don't _you think so_, Kate?"
This was coming more directly to the point; but the response proved
equally evasive.
"_You_ think so, papa--and that should do for both of us."
The melodious voice of Smythje again interrupted the dialogue, and
turned it into a new channel.
_Smythje, singing_,--
"I'd never languish for wealth nor for power,
I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet!"
"Ah, Mr Smythje!" exclaimed the Custos, in a kind of soliloquy, though
meant for the ear of Kate; "you have no need to sigh for them--you have
them; five hundred of them. And beauties, too! Wealth and power,
indeed! You needn't languish for either one or the other. The estate
of Montagu Castle provides you with both, my boy!"
_Smythje, still chantant_:--
"Those who have wealth may be watchful and wary,
Power, alas! nought but misery brings."
"Do you hear that, Kate? What fine sentiments he utters!"
"Very fine, and _apropos_ to the occasion," replied Kate, sarcastically.
"They are not his, however; but, no doubt, he feels them; and that's
just as good."
"A splendid property!" continued Mr Vaughan, returning to what
interested him more than the sentiments of the song, and not heeding the
sarcasm conveyed in the speech of his daughter,--"a splendid property, I
tell you; and, with mine joined to it, will make the grandest
establishment in the Island. The Island, did I say? In the West
Indies--ay, in the Western World! Do you hear that, my daughter?"
"I do, papa," replied the young Creole. "But you speak as if the two
estates were to be joined together? Does Mr Smythje intend to purchase
Mount Welcome? or you Montagu Castle?"
These questions were asked with an air of simplicity evidently assumed.
In truth, the interrogator knew well enough to what the conversation was
tending; and, impatient with the ambiguity, every moment growing more
painful to her, desired to bring it to its crisis.
Mr Vaughan was equally desirous of arriving at the same result, as
testified by his reply.
"Ah, Kate! you little rogue!" said he, looking gratified at the opening
thus made for him. "Egad! you've just hit the nail on the head. You've
guessed right--only that we are both to be buyers. Mr Smythje is to
purchase Mount Welcome; and what do you suppose he is to pay for it?
Guess that!"
"Indeed, father, I cannot! How should I know? I am sure I do not.
Only this I know, that I am sorry you should think of parting with Mount
Welcome. I, for one, shall be loth to leave it. Though I do not expect
_now_ ever to be happy here, I think I should not be happier anywhere
else."
Mr Vaughan was too much wound-up in the thread of his own thoughts to
notice the emphasis on the word "now," or the double meaning of his
daughter's words.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed he; "Mr Smythje's purchase won't dispossess us of
Mount Welcome. Don't be afraid of that, little Kate. But, come, try
and guess the price he is to pay?"
"Father, I need not try. I am sure I could not guess it--not within
thousands of pounds."
"Not a thousand pounds! no, not one pound, unless his great big heart
weighs that much, and his generous hand thrown into the scale--for that,
Catherine, that is the price he is to pay."
Mr Vaughan wound up this speech with a significant glance, and a
triumphant gesture, expressive of astonishment at his own eloquence.
He looked for a response--one that would reciprocate his smiles and the
joyful intelligence he fancied himself to have communicated.
He looked in vain. Notwithstanding the perspicuity of his explanation,
Kate obstinately refused to comprehend it.