and Miss Wardour, and
especially not to call him Papa.
Kate's eyes flashed at this; and she was so angry, that no words
would come but a passionate stammering "I can't--I can't leave off; I
won't!"
Lady Barbara looked stern and grave. "You must be taught what is
suitable to your position, Lady Caergwent; and until you have learnt
to feel it yourself, I shall request Mrs. Lacy to give you an
additional lesson every time you call Mr. Wardour by that name."
Aunt Barbara's low slow way of speaking when in great displeasure was
a terrific thing, and so was the set look of her handsome mouth and
eyes. Kate burst into a violent fit of crying, and was sent away in
dire disgrace. When she had spent her tears and sobs, she began to
think over her aunt's cruelty and ingratitude, and the wickedness of
trying to make her ungrateful too; and she composed a thrilling
speech, as she called it--"Lady Barbara Umfraville, when the orphan
was poor and neglected, my Uncle Wardour was a true father to me.
You may tear me with wild horses ere I will cease to give him the
title of--No; and I will call him papa--no, father--with my last
breath!"
What the countess might have done if Lady Barbara had torn her with
wild horses must remain uncertain. It is quite certain that the mere
fixing of those great dark eyes was sufficient to cut off Pa--at its
first syllable, and turn it into a faltering "my uncle;" and that,
though Kate's heart was very sore and angry, she never, except once
or twice when the word slipped out by chance, incurred the penalty,
though she would have respected herself more if she had been brave
enough to bear something for the sake of showing her love to Mr.
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