"I will not. What for? To pity one another, and abuse every other person, right or wrong. The Richmoors don't want thee among them at any price; and if I was thee I would stay where I was wanted."
"Now then, if you must have the whole bitter truth, take it. I don't believe Piers will have any heartache wanting thee. He was here, there, and everywhere with Miss Vyner, after thou hadst left London; and I saw the ring thou loanedst him on her finger."
Then Kate looked quickly up. Once, when Annabel had removed her glove, and instantly replaced it, a vague suspicion of this fact had given her a shock that she had named to no one. It seemed so incredible she could not tell her mother. And now her father's words brought back that moment of sick suspicion, and confirmed it.
There was a moment's intense silence. Kate glanced at her mother, who sat with dropped eyes, unconsciously knitting; but there was not a shadow of doubt or denial on her face. Then she looked at her father. His large countenance, usually so red and beaming, was white and drawn with feeling, and his troubled, aching soul looked at her pathetically from the misty depths of his tearful eyes. Her mother she might have argued and pleaded with; but the love and anguish supplicating her from that bending face was not to be denied. She lifted her own to it. She kissed the pale cheeks and trembling lips, and said, clearly,--
"I promise what you wish, Father. I will not speak to Piers, nor write to him, nor even look at him again--until you say I may," and with the words she put her hand in his for surety.
He rose to his feet then and put her in his chair; but he could not speak a word. Tremblingly, he lifted his hat and stick and went out of the room; and Mrs. Atheling threw down her knitting, and followed him to the door, and watched him going slowly through the long, flagged passageway. Her face was troubled when she returned to Kate. She lifted her knitting and threw it with some temper into her work-basket, and then flung wide open the casement and let the fresh air into the room. Kate did not speak; her whole air and manner was that of injury and woe-begone extremity.
"Kate," said her mother at last, "Kate, my dear! This is your first lesson in this world's sorrow. Don't be a coward under it. Lift up your heart to Him who is always sufficient."