Kate Danton, or, Captain Danton's Daughters Part 45

"To Grace! I am surprised that your father has not told you. If I had dreamed it was in the slightest degree a secret, I certainly would not have spoken." She did not answer.

He glanced at her, and saw that her cheeks and lips had turned ashen white, as she gazed steadfastly out of the window.

"My child," said the priest, "you do not speak. You are not disappointed--you are not grieved?"

She arose to go, still pale with the great and sudden surprise.

"You have given me a great shock in telling me this. I never dreamed of another taking my dear dead mother's place. I am very selfish and unreasonable, I dare say; but I thought papa would have been satisfied to make my home his. I have loved my father very much, and I cannot get used to the idea all in a moment of another taking my place."

She walked to the door. Father Francis followed her.

"One word," he said. "It is in your power, and in your power alone, to make your father seriously unhappy. You have no right to do that; he has been the most indulgent of parents to you. Remember that now--remember how he has never grieved you, and do not grieve him. Can I trust you to do this?"

"You can trust me," said Kate, a little softened. "Good morning."

She walked straight home, her heart all in a rebellious tumult. From the first she had never taken very kindly to Grace; but just now she felt as if she positively hated her.

"How dare she marry him!" she thought, the angry blood hot in her cheeks. "How dare she twine herself, with her quiet, Quakerish ways, into his heart! He is twice her age, and it is only to be mistress where she is servant now that she marries him. Oh, how could papa think of such a thing?"

She found Rose in the drawing-room when she arrived, listening to Eeny with wide-open eyes of wonder. The moment Kate entered, she sprang up, in a high state of excitement.

"Have you heard the news, Kate? Oh, goodness, gracious me! What is the world coming to! Papa is going to be married!"

"I know it," said Kate coldly.

"Who told you? Eeny's just been telling me, and Grace told her last night. It's to Grace! Did you ever! Just fancy calling Grace mamma!"

"I shall never call her anything of the sort."

"You don't like it, then? I told Eeny you wouldn't like it. What are you going to say to papa?"

"Nothing."

"No? Why don't you remonstrate! Tell him he's old enough and big enough to have better sense."

"I shall tell him nothing of the sort; and I beg you will not, either.

Papa certainly has the right to do as he pleases. Whether we like it or not, doesn't matter much; Grace Danton will more than supply our places."

She spoke bitterly, and turned to go up to her own room. With her hand on the door, she paused, and looked at Eeny.

"You are pleased, no doubt, Eeny?"

"Yes, I am," replied Eeny, stoutly. "Grace has always been like a mother to me: I am glad she is going to be my mother in reality."

"It is a fortunate thing you do," said Rose, "for you are the only one who will have to put up with her. Thank goodness! I'm going to be married."

"Thank goodness!" repeated Eeny; "there will be peace in the house when you're out of it. I don't know any one I pity half so much as that poor M. La Touche."

Kate saw Rose's angry retort in her eyes, and hurried away from the coming storm. She kept her room until luncheon-time, and she found her father alone in the dining-room when she entered. The anxious look he gave her made her think of Father Francis' words.

"I have heard all, papa," she said, smiling, and holding up her cheek.

"I am glad you will be happy when we are gone."

He drew a long breath of relief as he kissed her.

"Father Francis told you? You like Grace?"

"I want to like every one you like, papa," she replied, evasively.

Grace came in as she spoke, and, in spite of herself, Kate's face took that cold, proud look it often wore; but she went up to her with outstretched hand. She never shrank from disagreeable duties.

"Accept my congratulations," she said, frigidly. "I trust you will be happy."

Two deep red spots, very foreign to her usual complexion, burned in Grace's cheeks. Her only answer was a bow, as she took her seat at the table.

It was a most comfortless repast. There was a stiffness, a restraint over all, that would not be shaken off--with one exception. Rose, who latterly had been all in the downs, took heart of grace amid the general gloom, and rattled away like the Rose of other days. To her the idea of her father's marriage was rather a good joke than otherwise. She had no deep feelings to be wounded, no tender memories to be hurt, and the universal embarra.s.sment tickled her considerably.

"You ought to have heard everybody talking on stilts, Reginald," she said, in the flow of her returned spirits, some hours later, when the gentlemen returned. "Kate was on her dignity, you know, and as unapproachable as a princess-royal, and Grace was looking disconcerted and embarra.s.sed, and papa was trying to be preternaturally cheerful and easy, and Eeny was fidgety and scared, and I was enjoying the fun. Did you ever hear of anything so droll as papa's getting married?"

"I never heard of anything more sensible," said Reginald, resolutely.

"Grace is the queen of housekeepers, and will make the pink and pattern of matrons. I have foreseen this for some time, and I a.s.sure you I am delighted."

"So is Kate," said Rose, her eyes twinkling. "You ought to have seen her congratulating Grace. It was like the entrance of a blast of north wind, and froze us all stiff."

"I am glad June is so near," Kate said, leaning lightly on her lover's shoulder; "I could not stay here and know that she was mistress."

Mr. Stanford did not seem to hear; he was whistling to Tiger, lumbering on the lawn. When he did speak, it was without looking at her.

"I am going to Ottawa next week."

"To Ottawa! With M. La Touche?" asked Kate, while Rose's face flushed up.

"Yes; he wants me to go, and I have said yes. I shall stay until the end of April."

Kate looked at him a little wistfully, but said nothing. Rose turned suddenly, and ran upstairs.

"We shall miss you--I shall miss you," she said at last.

"It will not be for long," he answered, carelessly. "Come in and sing me a song."

The first pang of doubt that had ever crossed Kate's mind of her handsome lover, crossed it now, as she followed him into the drawing-room.

"How careless he is!" she thought; "how willing to leave me! And I--could I be contented anywhere in the world where he was not?"

By some mysterious chance, the song she selected was Eeny's "smile again, my dearest love; weep not that I leave thee."

Stanford listened to it, his sunny face overcast.