Dressed in Black

Chapter 6

A fortnight had passed since the last mention of my heroine's doings, and that interval of time had been spent without any romantic incidents. The unvaried, slow-moving pace of a country life brought peace to Catherine's splintered heart and unsettled mind, however bad the weather had availed itself to be. It was a common English afternoon: rainy and grey, and the two young ladies of the Abbey were huddled in front of the blazing hearth with books. One of them presently spoke up.

"The weather," Henrietta observed, dropping her book into her lap, "is so melancholy. Catherine! Don't you find the weather dreadfully melancholy?" The said Catherine smiled with unaltered civility, much as her friend had opened up to her these past weeks, replying, "She believed it could be far worse." Upon which she reapplied herself to reading, although her fidgety companion could not persuade herself to be silent and keep still.

"Aren't you fond of books, Cathy?" she ejaculated impatiently. "Verily I find books an excellent pastime, when no other amusements are at hand. It is monstrous soothing and I am a very mild person whose priority is to meditate. How nice it is to be reading in this weather! One immediately forgets its blandness and is lost to the wonders of the South of France or Italy."

"Reading," began Catherine, but was abruptly cut off by her friend, who had more nonsense to share with her.

"Do you know my brother Harry is very fond of reading, and values his solitude above anything else in the world, though I daresay he is a hopeless romantic, however seldom he demonstrates his sentimentality. Nevertheless, he is yet fonder of ladies than of himself, and with one in his life I am persuaded that he would drop some of his reclusive habits. I am sure you would like him, Cathy." She smiled significantly. "By the bye, he is destined to join us in London this winter. My dear friend," she cried, flying to Catherine's side and seizing her elbow. "I expect you to be in better looks – better health, I mean, for Harry is sure to fall over head and ears in love with you the instant he beholds you. What do you think ma gamine; wouldn't it be an advantageous match?"

"If we fall in love, then I have no doubt of its being delightful," she returned simply, with a small yet expressive smile.

"Dear, you are so subtle in your sweetness!" she trilled, closing her book for her and putting it aside on a table hard by. A look of mild annoyance crossed Catherine's spherical eyes, as she had been enjoying it thoroughly. "Harry is sure to engage your affections, for he is all that you – and I – esteem in a man. Never mind his fortune, for he is as sensible, as agreeable a man as one could wish to marry. He pays so many compliments to the ladies, and can think of nothing but their virtues. He wonders so many women can be accomplished in air, address, and mind, but not half of them possess your sweetness, and I daresay he would be simply ravished by you."

"Tell me more about him," she looked at her with grave interest. "You describe him in very commonplace terms, and now he seems to me as likely to be bland and unadventurous as any other Englishman I have happened to meet."

"Ah no!" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "He is nothing of the kind; I was merely saying those things to convince you of his respectability. The cream of his person is his heart: there his passions thump full and fast, and can never be shaken or dried up. I tell you Catherine, he is a doting brother and would make for a passionate lover, and knows all of Shakespeare's sonnets by heart! Is not that exciting?"

"There – he sounds much more interesting," she blushed, fingering the ebony cross hanging at her throat. "But really, Miss Slater, we ought to drop the subject. It isn't proper to speak so arduously about a man."