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CHAPTER IX

THAT evening Kate gave a lively account of her adventures. She made the Hume party laugh heartily. She herself was in the highest spirits.

"I hope, Kate," said Mr. Hume," that you went to see the aurist, Sir John Orme; we are all so anxious about the recovery of your voice. But perhaps Sir John could not see you without an appointment?"

"Yes, I went to his house and saw him," answered Kate. " He examined my throat, and says I must not attempt to use it for some months. He has ordered a strengthening gargle and a tonic."

"Did he say nothing about voice exercise?" asked Mrs. Hume. "Voice exercises are so splendid for the throat. For instance, a few notes of the scale every day."

"He said that at present I must not sing at all," replied Kate. "The vocal chords are strained, and the whole throat is in a relaxed condition."

"Most provoking!" cried Mr. Hume. "I did so look forward to hearing you sing. Nothing rests me more in the evening than really good singing, and, unfortunately, neither Ethel nor Mary have voices to speak of. Then Ralph, too, is nearly music mad, and sings splendidly himself. We must do all in our power, Kitty, to get that magnificent voice back again."

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As he spoke he looked with some concealed anxiety at his niece. Was it possible that Kate, splendidly well as she looked, was really consumptive? There was such a dreadful taint in the family. She certainly did not look like it, but that failure of her voice at such an early age, might point to mischief in the lower part of the larynx. He half thought of seeing Sir John Orme himself on the subject, but resolved if he did so to say nothing to Kate.

Towards the end of dinner, Miss Bouverie bent slightly forward, laid her hand on her uncle's arm, and spoke--

"I do hope you won't all be awfully offended," she said. "I love you all, and it is delightful to be amongst my own dear relations again--"

"Well, out with it, Kitty," said her uncle.

Kate swallowed something in her throat. She was reluctant to tell about the flat, but it was absolutely necessary that she should do so.

"I have always observed," said Mary, in an impatient voice, "that when people wish to say a truly unpleasant thing they preface it somewhat in the way you have just done, Kate. If you like your relations, why should you do anything to offend them?"

"I hope I shall not offend you; but the fact is I have not been accustomed to living with a lot of people--"

"My dear--when you were with your father in his great palace at Ruapore! My dear child, you must have forgotten."

"No, I have certainly not forgotten," replied Kate impatiently--her eyes were gleaming now, and there was a brilliant colour in her cheeks--"but can you not understand that a number of Indian servants | | 73 and a great deal of entertaining are not like being with your own people? And, then, the palace of Ruapore was so big, that when I liked to be in my rooms I was quite alone. I am passionately fond of music, and I cannot practise as I wish in this house."

"Oh yes, that you can, Kate," exclaimed her aunt. "You shall have the little turret room at the top of the spiral stairs all to yourself. We can have a piano sent in to-morrow."

Kate shook her head.

"It is just like you, Aunt Susannah. But I don't think it will do. Sir John Orme has not forbidden me to use my fingers, and these fingers must rattle over the keys for many hours a day. Well, here is the dreadful secret. I want to live alone. Yes, I do, I do--I shall come and see you all constantly--but I must live alone. And I have taken the dearest, sweetest little furnished flat in Chelsea--the most bijou place in the world--and I am going there to-morrow. Now, Uncle Robert, you are not really angry with me?"

As she spoke she rose from her seat, ran up to Mr. Hume, and threw her arms round his neck.

"You are not angry," she repeated; and now she kissed him on his forehead.

There could scarcely anywhere be found softer lips than Kate's. And Kate's eyes were of the most brilliant in the world. In spite of himself, Mr. Hume was influenced by her beauty. It suddenly occurred to him that the idea was not so bad after all. He could easily visit Kate in her flat. It would be necessary for him to see so much of her--and at all hours, too--for there were the settlements to be got up, and there was the administration of all her large property. So | | 74 although he shook his head and told her that she was a very extravagant, discontented puss, he did not object to her living alone as much as she feared.

"For my part I think it is rather a good idea," said Ethel--"more particularly as I hope you mean me to live with you. You surely cannot live in your flat alone?"

"You shall come and see me sometimes," replied Kate; "but I mean to live alone. Yes, I am quite determined; it is one of my idiosyncracies. And now, shall I run upstairs for my jewel-case? You asked last night to see the Maharaja's diamond. I have unpacked the case to-day and can show it to you."

"Ah!" said Mr. Hume, "that's a good girl. We certainly shall be interested to see that stone. Come, Susan, dear; we can easily wheel your sofa into the drawing-room. You also would like to see the priceless stone which poor Christopher wrote to us about."

Mrs. Hume was wheeled into the drawing-room, and Kate ran upstairs for her jewel-case. She knew all about its contents now. She could tell her quondam relations all about the pearls she was having re-strung and the diamond necklet which was being reset, and for which she had ordered a diamond clasp. Then as to the Maharaja's diamond, had she not read all about that splendid uncut stone in the Times at the British Museum? She felt that she could scarcely give herself away now with regard to the Maharaja's diamond.

In her absence, Mr. Hume had placed a small card-table opposite one of the windows, had drawn down the blinds, placed a lamp in such a position that the table should be in the most brilliant light, | | 75 and now motioned Kate to seat herself at her aunt's right hand. The jewel-case was placed in the centre of the table and solemnly opened.

The girls exclaimed when they saw the different jewels, and began fingering the rings and looking with eyes of longing at some soft lustrous pearl ear-rings.

"Oh, what it is to be rich!" said Mary, with a sigh. She glanced at Kate as she spoke, and for the first time in honest Mary's life a feeling of envy possessed her. But for Kate's existence, would not she and Ethel be the heiresses? For them would be the jewels, and the money, and the beautiful country home. For one of them, too, there might even be Ralph Henley. They both considered Ralph a prince amongst men, and felt that a very little persuasion would have been needed to give him their hearts. How different their lot in life would have been but for Kate! Here Mary shook herself. What horrid thoughts she was indulging in. For there was Kate--Kate in the flesh, strong, wilful, and handsome. Kate, who had not the slightest idea of dying in order to convenience them, and whom they both really loved. Oh yes; of course they loved her devotedly, although somehow she kept disappointing them all day long. Neither girl could understand why Kate disappointed them, but they felt it all the same; and now Mary dropped the pearls, and Ethel put the rings back into the case.

"But I have not yet seen the diamond," said Mr. Hume.

Kate gave a little pout.

"Of course you haven't seen it," she answered; "it is in the secret drawer."

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"Ah!" he cried. "You know the trick of the secret drawer, of course, my love?"

"Well, is it likely I should not, Uncle Robert?" Here Kate pressed a spring, the drawer flew open, and from the depths of the soft, faintly-scented Oriental wool she produced the great diamond. Earlier in the day several other diamonds of great value had reposed by its side. But now it was alone. The other diamonds were lying upstairs, wrapped in some ordinary cotton-wool, in a little ordinary English box that Mrs. Mildmay had given to her daughter some years ago. The little box, containing the diamonds worth hundreds of pounds, lay unprotected in the lid of Kate's trunk. Never mind! Before many days had passed she would convert them all into money.

"Here is the great diamond," she said, laying it solemnly in the palm of her hand. Spots of excitement had stolen into each of her cheeks and her eyes looked strangely bright.

"Oh," she said, glancing round at her uncle, aunt, and cousins, "shall I ever forget the great day when my dear father received this priceless gem? Of course, I was with him, and the Maharaja noticed me personally. Do you know what he did? Oh, it was disappointing. He tried to clasp a valuable gold belt all studded with jewels round my waist. He had taken it away from his favourite wife. He meant to give it to me if I could clasp it. But I couldn't, my waist was too big. Oh, I never was so cross about anything. I almost cried."

Mrs. Hume now nearly cried herself with laughter.

"Your dear father wrote such a funny letter about all that," she said. "He called you a covetous, wicked little Kitty. It certainly was a pity you didn't | | 77 get the belt, Kate. Didn't the Maharaja give you something else in its place?"

"He gave me nothing. That's just like them. They offer you a thing one moment, and if you can accept it well and good. But the belt was his favourite wife's. And oh; how relieved she looked when she saw me trying in vain to clasp it round my waist. Wasn't she pleased when it wouldn't meet! Oh, how I longed to say, 'Give me something else instead.' But, of course, I couldn't."

"Let us look at the diamond now," said Mrs. Hume. "What a pity it is not cut! it looks quite a dull, ordinary sort of stone. Who would suppose it was of such immense value."

"It is worth between two and three thousand pounds," said Mr. Hume. "That is what your father said when he wrote to us about it, Kate. We must have it set, and you shall wear it on your wedding-day. Ah! and here comes Henley. How do you do, Ralph? You would like to see the Maharaja's diamond?"

Henley took a chair near Kate's side. She dropped the unset diamond into his palm.

"Look," she said. "Look well. That priceless stone is yours and mine."

"Yours and mine?" he answered, glancing into her face.

"Yes, yours and mine."

"But it is a queer, rough-looking thing, somewhat heavy. What does it mean?"

Kate burst into a ringing peal of laughter.

"Oh, you dear innocent boy!" she cried. "Ask Uncle Robert what he thinks of the rough, heavy-looking stone."

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"It is a diamond, Ralph, and a very valuable one," said Mr. Hume. "Tell him, Kate, how it got into your possession."

Kate rose, laid her hand on her lover's arm, and motioned to him to follow her to the other end of the room. They were standing by the open window when Mr. Hume came up and spoke.

"I shall have that diamond set for your wedding, Kate. You must wear it on your marriage-day."

"No," said Ralph; "I like her best without diamonds. I only want you, Kate, not your precious stones."

Kate dropped the diamond into her uncle's palm, smiled up at Ralph, and they both strolled into the garden.

The moonlight shone all over her face. Ralph thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I wish you would make that nice speech again," she said in a low voice.

"What speech, dearest?"

"That you want me--not my diamonds."

"But, of course, Kitty, what else could you expect?"

"I don't know," she answered, flushing. "But it's nice to know it. It is very nice." A rare note of true and deep feeling stole into her voice.

"I wonder if--" she said, a trifle shyly, "you would say something still nicer?"

"I will say anything you want me to say. But what do you mean?"

"Ralph, if I were a poor girl, if I didn't bring you a great deal of money, would you still love me? Or, if I had lost all the money, would you still want your Kitty?"

"My darling, need you ask ? Surely you do not | | 79 suppose I am marrying you for the sake of your money. The money is there and I cannot help it. But I want you, my darling--you, and nothing else. If you had not a penny in the world, you would still be the only woman I could love. Why? what is the matter, Kate? You are trembling."

"I am listening to your words. No wonder I tremble. They mean a great deal. You do love me just for myself?"

"Just and only for yourself."

Kate's face went very white.

"But what is the matter, dearest? Why should this upset you?"

"It doesn't really upset me; it gives me the most intense pleasure. It is true, then, that you really, really love me. Do you think, Ralph, you would love me even if I were--"

"Even if you were what?"

"Even if I were not quite the best girl in the world?"

"Why, my dearest, of course you're not the best girl in the world. I don't want to marry an angel: I want my wife to be a sweet little human girl. What are those lines of Wordsworth's?--

"There, Kitty, that is the sort of wife I want. And you, you fulfil my idea of the wife I require to perfection--to perfection."

"Oh, Ralph, you are sweet. You must say those lines to me again--not now, some other time. But | | 80 listen--do listen just for a moment. If you were ever to find out, dear Ralph, that I--"

"Find out what, my darling? What are you trying to say, my little Kitty? Any one would suppose that you, who have led the most innocent, the purest, the whitest of lives, had done something dreadful. I have only to show you your own letters to prove to you what a little white page your life's story has been."

"Yes, yes," she answered restlessly. "But still, even letters do not tell everything. Oh, I have often had bad thoughts, and all sorts of things have happened. I won't talk of them now, but sometimes I think I would rather you knew everything, Ralph."

"You shall tell me what you like when we are married. My poor little love, I suppose you think a fit of temper or a little bit of a sulk the most serious offence in the world."

Ralph looked down anxiously into Kate's face. Lightly as he appeared to take them, her words troubled him. Of course, there was nothing in them--only a girl's exaggerated way of looking at things. And she was highly strung; there was no doubt whatever of that.

"Oh, Ralph," she cried, suddenly changing her tone, "to think that you would love me even if I hadn't thirty thousand a year."

"My dear," he answered, "I have loved you since you were eleven years old."

Kate's face, which had been brilliant and full of strange emotions at the beginning of this speech, lost some of its bright expression towards its close. The fact that Ralph had loved the real Kate Bouverie was little satisfaction to her.

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"Let us talk about something else," she said restlessly. "I can never do with sentiment very long. Do you know what I have done?"

"What?"

"I have taken a little flat in Chelsea."

"You! What do you mean?"

"I have done it, Ralph. I don't want to be at the Grange all the time between now and our marriage. I like best to live alone. Of course, I shall like best of all to live with you, darling; but until then I prefer being by myself, and just seeing my dear kind relations when they choose to come to me or when I can find time to run down to them. Whether you like it or not, Ralph--and I am afraid you do not like it, from the expression on your face--the deed is done."

"Have you told Mr. Hume?"

"Yes; and after a little persuasion he has made up his mind that he quite approves."

"But you cannot live there by yourself?"

"I shall live there with my maid, Marryat, and my other servants."

"Why cannot you get Ethel or Mary to stay with you? I wish you would."

"They shall come and see me sometimes, but I prefer to live alone. I am going to Chelsea to-morrow. I have engaged servants; everything is in train. Will you come and see me to-morrow evening?"

Just then Mary Hume came out and stood on the balcony.

"Mother wants you to sing something for her, Ralph. Will you? She does so enjoy your songs." Ralph gave a pleased exclamation.

"Good! Mary," he said, "I was almost forgetting. | | 82 Kitty will join me in a song, of course, won't you, Kate?"

"I am sorry to disappoint you," answered Kate, "but the specialist whom I saw to-day won't allow me to use my voice for some months."

"Your voice? Impossible! I have been so looking forward to hearing you sing. Surely there is nothing wrong with it?"

"My throat is in a relaxed condition, and the vocal chords are out of order. Just at present I must not use it."

"What specialist did you go to?"

"Sir John Orme, of Queen Anne Street. Uncle Robert recommended him."

"And rightly," replied Henley. "You could not be in safer hands. Do you know, I have a queer piece of news to give you. Sir John and his people are some of my oldest friends, and I am going there to lunch to-morrow. I shall ask him all about you; it is most important that no stone should be left unturned to restore your voice."

Kate was silent.