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Prentiss's face did not relax. "Get it and bring it to my room at once." His voice was cold and businesslike, strongly reminiscent now of Kate's. Kate stood before a teetering knobless bureau reflecting upon the singular coincidence which should place her in the same room for her second social affair in the Prouty House as that to which she had been assigned upon her first.
A happier moment the trembling wife had not known for years. "You will make a short visit to Newport?" said Mr. Edwards, as Kate's feelings grew calmer. "Oh, yes," she whispered, "if you wish me to do so." "Only on account of your health," he replied, "I know it will do you good." "Oh, certainly I will go. Forgive me for having before hesitated a moment; it was a childish weakness.
Every expression of his brown eyes snapped with life, and his big Roman nose, though not making for beauty, one soon got used to. Barb broke abruptly in on the conversation: "What did Stone find out?" he asked. Van Horn answered a question of Kate's and turned then, and not until then, to her father: "That's what I came over to tell you.
Deronda would like me to do," said Mirah, gravely, seeing that Mrs. Meyrick looked toward her; and Hans, turning on his heel, went to Kate's table and took up one of her drawings as if his interest needed a new direction. "Shouldn't you like to make a study of Klesmer's head, Hans?" said Kate. "I suppose you have often seen him?"
Her head went up with a toss as she spoke, for this was one of Kate's pet theories. "But he's not of my class, Kate, and he shouldn't be here. I told father so." "Then make him one," she answered stoutly, "if only for to-night, by being extra polite and courteous to him and never letting him feel that he is outside of what you call 'your class. I like Mr. Willits, and have always liked him.
Its character of effort it would owe to Kate's expected resistance, not less probable than on the occasion of past appeals; which was precisely why he perhaps innocently made his telegram persuasive.
He's got most everything up there." "Up where?" "Oh, up there," with vague nod toward the head of the Island. "He says he'd like to get acquainted with you, Aunt Kate. He says he really believes you might be worth knowing." Thereupon Aunt Kate's book fell to the floor with a thud of amazement that reverberated indignation. "Well upon my word!" gasped she.
"This isn't a cellar," she was told rather sharply. "It's a basement." "Oh!" Mary Rose tried to see the difference between a cellar and a basement and had little difficulty, for nothing could have been more different from the little Mifflin cellar with its swinging shelf for preserves and pickles, its dark closet for vegetables, than Aunt Kate's basement apartment.
I do not think the few masculine wayfarers of that locality objected to it; indeed, some had betrayed an indiscreet admiration, and had curiously followed the invitation of Miss Kate's warmly-colored figure until they had encountered the invincible indifference of Miss Kate's cold gray eyes.
A vision crossed Kate's mind of two little girls watching that same scene many years ago, in the cold moonlight with sorrowful hearts. She thought she knew well what Frances meant about sunshine coming into a desolate life. "Dear old Kate, how tired you will get sometimes with teaching those poor little things, who are sure to be tiresome and naughty.
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