FullReads

Now, the change from darkness to very bright light–for Jenkins went down the gallery lighting candle after candle, as if for a big reception–made us all wink a bit. And excitement would account for the white of the young lady’s cheeks–I dare say I had turned pretty pale myself. But it did not seem to me to account for the look of sheer blank astonishment–no, it was more than this; a wild kind of wonder would be nearer the mark–that came into her eyes and stayed there. And I didn’t quite see why she should put a hand suddenly against the wainscot, and from sickly white go red as fire and then back to white again. If they were sitting up for housebreakers, I was decidedly a better-looking one than they had any right to expect. The eyes of the others were fastened on me. I was the only one to take note of the girl’s behaviour: and I declare I spared a second from the consideration of my own case to wonder what the deuce was the matter with her.

“Well, upon my soul!” cried Sir Harry, with something between a laugh and a sniff of disgust; and the footman on the other side of me echoed it with a silly cackle. “He certainly doesn’t look as if he came from Bath!”

“Sir,” I expostulated–for when events seem likely to prove overwhelming, I usually find myself clutching at my original respectability–“Sir, although the force of circumstances has brought me thus low, I am by birth and education a gentleman. Having told you this, I trust that you will remember it, even in the heat of your natural resentment.”

“You speak almost as prettily as you write,” he answered scornfully, pulling a letter from his pocket.

“This is beyond me,” thought I; for of course I knew it could be no letter of mine. Besides, a glance told me that I had never set eyes on the paper or handwriting before. I think my next remark showed self-possession. “Would you be kind enough to explain?” I asked.

“I rather think that should be your business,” said he; and faith, I allowed the justice of that contention, awkward though it was. But he went on, “It astonishes you, I dare say, to see this letter in my hand?”

It did. I acknowledged as much with a bow.

He began to read in an affected mimicking voice, “My ever-loved Kate, since your worthy but wrong-headed father–“

“Father!” It sounded like an echo. It came from the young lady, who had sprung forward indignantly, and was holding out a hand for the letter. “The servants! Have you not degraded me enough?” She stamped her foot.

The old gentleman folded up the letter again, and gave it into her hand with a cold bow. She was handing it to me–Oh, the unfathomable depth of woman!–when he interfered.

“For your own delectation if you will, miss; but as your protector I must ask you not to give it back.”

He turned towards me again. As he did so, I caught over his shoulder, or fancied I caught, a glance from Miss Kate that was at once a warning and an appeal. The next moment her eyes were bent shamefast upon the floor. I began to divine.

Said I, “If that’s a sample of your manner towards your daughter, even you, in your cooler moments, can hardly wonder that she chooses another protector.”

“Protector!” he repeated, lifting his eyebrows; and that infernal footman cackled again.

“If you can’t behave with common politeness to a lady,” I put in smartly, “you might at least exhibit enough of rude intelligence to lay hold of an argument that’s as plain as the nose on your face!”

“Gently, my good sir!” said he. “Do you know that, if I choose, I can march you off to jail for a common housebreaker?”