“I hope Mr. Wardour is quite well,” said Lord de la Poer, turning again to Kate.
“Oh yes, quite, thank you;” and then with brightening eyes, she ventured on “Do you know him?”
“I saw him two or three times,” he answered with increased kindness of manner. “Will you remember me to him when you write?”
“Very well,” said Kate promptly; “but he says all those sort of things are nonsense.”
The horror of the two aunts was only kept in check by the good manners that hindered a public scolding; but Lord de la Poer only laughed heartily, and said, “Indeed! What sort of things, may I ask, Lady Caergwent?”
“Why—love, and regards, and remembrances. Mary used to get letters from her school-fellows, all filled with dearest loves, and we always laughed at her; and Armyn used to say them by heart beforehand,” said Kate.
“I beg to observe,” was the answer, in the grave tone which, however, Kate understood as fun, “that I did not presume to send my love to Mr. Wardour. May not that make the case different?”
“Yes,” said Kate meditatively; “only I don’t know that your remembrance would be of more use than your love.”
“And are we never to send any messages unless they are of use?” This was a puzzling question, and Kate did not immediately reply.
“Well, but I don’t see what would be the pleasure.”
“What, do you consider it pleasurable to be universally forgotten?”
“Nobody ever could forget Pa—my Uncle Wardour,” cried Kate, with eager vehemence flashing in her eyes.
“Certainly not,” said Lord de la Poer, in a voice as if he were much pleased with her; “he is not a man to be forgotten. It is a privilege to have been brought up by him. But come, Lady Caergwent, since you are so critical, will you be pleased to devise some message for me, that may combine use, pleasure, and my deep respect for him?” and as she sat beside him at the table, he laid his hand on hers, so that she felt that he really meant what he said.
She sat fixed in deep thought; and her aunts, who had been miserable all through the conversation, began to speak of other things; but in the midst the shrill little voice broke in, “I know what!” and good-natured Lord de la Poer turned at once, smiling, and saying, “Well, what?”
“If you would help in the new aisle! You know the church is not big enough; there are so many people come into the district, with the new ironworks, you know; and we have not got half room enough, and can’t make more, though we have three services; and we want to build a new aisle, and it will cost £250, but we have only got £139 15_s._ 6_d._ And if you would but be so kind as to give one sovereign for it—that would be better than remembrances and respects, and all that sort of thing.”