Cursed by a Fortune. Fenn George Manville

appeared to be transferred from Kate’s to her uncle’s face, but it was not wan; on the contrary, it was decidedly stormy.

      “Yes,” he said, with a grunt.

      “Anything particular?”

      “Yes, very.”

      “What is it, my dear?”

      “Don’t both – er – letter from John Garstang.”

      “Oh, dear me!” said Mrs Wilton, looking aghast; and her husband kicked out one foot for her special benefit, but as his leg was not eight feet long the shot was a miss.

      “Says he’ll run down for a few days to settle that little estate business; and that it will give him an opportunity to have a few chats with Kate here. You say you like Mr Garstang, my dear?”

      “Oh, yes,” said Kate, quietly; “he was always very nice and kind to me.”

      “Of course, my darling; who would not be?” said Mrs Wilton.

      “Claud, boy, I suppose the pheasants are getting scarce.”

      “Oh, there are a few left yet,” said the young man.

      “You must get up a beat and try and find a few hares, too. Uncle Garstang likes a bit of shooting. Used to see much of John Garstang, my dear, when you were at home?”

      “No, uncle, not much. He used to come and dine with us sometimes, and he was always very kind to me from the time I was quite a little girl, but my father and he were never very intimate.”

      “A very fine-looking man, my dear, and so handsome,” said Mrs Wilton.

      “Yes, very,” said her husband, dryly; “and handsome is as handsome does.”

      “Yes, my dear, of course,” said Mrs Wilton; and very little more was said till the end of the breakfast, when the lady of the house asked what time the guest would be down.

      “Asks me to send the dog-cart to meet the mid-day train. Humph! rain’s over and sun coming out. Here, Claud, take your cousin round the greenhouse and the conservatory. She hasn’t seen the plants.”

      “All right, father. Don’t mind me smoking, do you, Kitty?”

      “Of course she’ll say no,” said Wilton testily; “but you can surely do without your pipe for an hour or two.”

      “Oh, very well,” said Claud, ungraciously; and he offered his cousin his arm.

      She looked surprised at the unnecessary attention, but took it; and they went out through the French window into the broad verandah, the glass door swinging to after them.

      “What a sweet pair they’ll make, James, dear,” said Mrs Wilton, smiling fondly after her son. “How nicely she takes to our dear boy!”

      “Yes, like the rest of the idiots. Girl always says snap to the first coat and trousers that come near her.”

      “Oh, James, dear! you shouldn’t say that I’m sure I didn’t!”

      “You! Well, upon my soul! How you can stand there and utter such a fib! But never mind; it’s going to be easy enough, and we’ll get it over as soon as we decently can, if you don’t make some stupid blunder and spoil it.”

      “James, dear!”

      “Be just like you. But a nice letter I’ve had from John Garstang about that mortgage. Never mind, though; once this is over I can snap my fingers at him. So be as civil as you can; and I suppose we must give him some of the best wine.”

      “Yes, dear, and have out the china dinner service.”

      “Of course. But I wish you’d put him into a damp bed.”

      “Oh, James, dear! I couldn’t do that.”

      “Yes, you could; give him rheumatic fever and kill him. But I suppose you won’t.”

      “Indeed I will not, dear. There are many wicked things that I feel I could do, but put a Christian man into a damp bed – no!”

      “Humph! Well, then, don’t; but I hope that boy will be careful and not scare Kitty.”

      “What, Claud? Oh, no, my dear, don’t be afraid of that. My boy is too clever; and, besides, he’s beginning to love the very ground she walks on. Really, it seems to me quite a Heaven-made matter.”

      “Always is, my dear, when the lady has over a hundred thousand pounds,” said Wilton, with a grim smile; “but we shall see.”

      Chapter Eight

      “I say, don’t be in such a jolly hurry. You’re all right here, you know. I want to talk to you.”

      “You really must excuse me now, Claud; I have not been well, and I’m going back to my room.”

      “Of course you haven’t been well, Kitty – I say, I shall call you Kitty, you know – you can’t expect to be well moping upstairs in your room. I’ll soon put you right, better than that solemn-looking Doctor. You want to be out in the woods and fields. I know the country about here splendidly. I say, you ride, don’t you?”

      “I? No.”

      “Then I’ll teach you. Get your old maid to make you a good long skirt – that will do for a riding-habit at first – I’ll clap the side-saddle on my cob, and soon show you how to ride like a plucky girl should. I say, Kitty, I’ll hold you on at first – tight.”

      The speaker smiled at her, and the girl shrank from him, but he did not see it.

      “You’ll soon ride, and then you and I will have the jolliest of times together. I’ll make you ride so that by this time next year you’ll follow the hounds, and top a hedge with the best of them.”

      “Oh, no, I have no wish to ride, Claud.”

      “Yes, you have. You think so now, because you’re a bit down; but you wait till you’re on the cob, and then you’ll never want to come off. I don’t. I say, you haven’t seen me ride.”

      “No, Claud; but I must go now.”

      “You mustn’t, coz. I’m going to rouse you up. I say, though, I don’t want to brag, but I can ride – anything. I always get along with the first flight, and a little thing like you after I’ve been out with you a bit will astonish some of them. I shall keep my eye open, and the first pretty little tit I see that I think will suit you, I shall make the guv’nor buy.”

      “I beg that you will not, Claud.”

      “That’s right, do. Go down on your poor little knees and beg, and I’ll get the mount for you all the same. I know what will do you good and bring the blood into your pretty cheeks. No, no, don’t be in such a hurry. I won’t let you go upstairs and mope like a bird with the pip. You never handled a gun, I suppose?”

      “No, never,” said Kate, half angrily now; “of course not.”

      “Then you shall. You can have my double-barrel that father bought for me when I was a boy. It’s light as a feather, comes up to the shoulder splendidly, and has no more kick in it than a mouse. I tell you what, if it’s fine this afternoon you shall put on thick boots and a hat, and we’ll walk along by the fir plantations, and you shall have your first pop at a pheasant.”

      “I shoot at a pheasant!” cried Kate in horror.

      “Shoo!” exclaimed Claud playfully. “Yes, you have your first shot at a pheasant. Shuddering? That’s just like a London girl. How horrid, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, horrible for a woman.”

      “Not a bit of it. You’ll like it after the first shot. You’ll be ready enough to shove in the cartridges with those little hands, and bring the birds down. I say, I’ll teach you to fish, too, and throw a fly. You’ll like it, and soon forget all the mopes. You’ve been spoiled; but after a month or two here you won’t know yourself. Don’t be in such a hurry, Kitty.”

      “Don’t hold my hand like that, Claud; I must really