“I don’t think there is much stinting in anything, papa, at Steephill.”
“Not for the dinner party, perhaps. I never hold with dinner parties. They don’t suit me; sitting down to a large meal when you ought to be thinking of your bed. But Sir John puts his best foot forward, eh, for that? Saves up the grapes, I shouldn’t wonder, till they go bad, for one blow-out, instead of eating ’em when he wants ’em, like we do, every day.”
This speech restored the equilibrium of Katherine’s mind by turning the balance of wit to the other side.
“You are not at all just to Sir John, papa. You never are when you don’t know people. He is very honest and kind, and takes very little trouble about his dinner parties. They were both very kind to me.”
“Asked young Fortescue to meet you, I hear. A young fellow with a lot of poor land and no money. Meaning to try me on another tack this time, I suppose. Not if he had a hundred miles of downs, Katie; you remember that. Land’s a confounded bad investment. None of your encumbered estates for me.”
“You need not distress yourself, papa. I never spoke to Mr. Fortescue,” said Katherine.
There was a little offence in her tone. She had not forgiven Lady Jane for the fact that Mr. Fortescue, the only young man of the party, had not been allotted to her for dinner, as she felt would have been the right thing. Katherine thought him very red in the face, weatherbeaten, and dull--so far as appearances went; but she was piqued and offended at having been deprived of her rights. Did Lady Jane not think her good enough, _par exemple_, for young Fortescue? And her tone betrayed her, if Mr. Tredgold had taken any trouble to observe her tone.
“He need not come here to throw dust in my eyes--that’s all,” said the old man. “I want none of your landed fellows--beggars! with more to give out than they have coming in. No; the man that can put down his money on the table----”
“Don’t you think I have heard enough of your money down on the table?” said Katherine, very red and uncomfortable. “No one is likely to trouble you about me, papa, so we may leave the money alone, on the table or off it.”
“I’m not so sure about that. There’s young Fred Turny would like nothing better. And a capital fellow that. Plenty of his own, and going into all the best society, and titled ladies flinging themselves at his head. Mind you, I don’t know if you keep shilly-shallying, whether he’ll stand it long--a young fellow like that.”
