"Lady Ethelinda had a whole ream of paper to draw on!" were the words
pronounced in Kate's shrill key of eagerness, just as the long lost
Mary and her father opened the door.
"Indeed!" said Mr. Wardour, a tall, grave-looking man; "and who is
Lady Ethelinda!"
"O Papa, it's just a story I was drawing," said Kate, half eager,
half ashamed.
"We have done all the lessons we could, indeed we have--" began
Sylvia; "my music and our French grammar, and--"
"Yes, I know," said Mary; and she paused, looking embarrassed and
uncomfortable, so that Sylvia stood in suspense and wonder.
"And so my little Kate likes thinking of Lady--Lady Etheldredas,"
said Mr. Wardour rather musingly; but Kate was too much pleased at
his giving any sort of heed to her performances to note the manner,
and needed no more encouragement to set her tongue off.
"Lady Ethelinda, Papa. She is a very grand rich lady, though she is
a little girl: and see there, she is giving presents to all her
cousins; and there she is buying new clothes for the orphans that
were burnt out; and there she is building a school for them."
Kate suddenly stopped, for Mr. Wardour sat down, drew her between his
knees, took both her hands into one of his, and looked earnestly into
her face, so gravely that she grew frightened, and looking
appealingly up, cried out, "O Mary, Mary! have I been naughty?"
"No, my dear," said Mr. Wardour; "but we have heard a very strange
piece of news about you, and I am very anxious as to whether it may
turn out for your happiness.
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