The first ten days at Castleford would have been dull indeed to Katherine but for the society of Cis and Charlie in the mornings, and the interest she took in watching Errington (who was of course a frequent visitor) in the evenings.
Though she avoided conversing with him as much as possible, he was a constant study to her. He was different from all the men she had previously met. She often wondered if anything could disturb him or hurry him. Had he ever climbed trees and torn his clothes, or thrashed an adversary? Had he any weaknesses, or vivid joys, or passionate longings? Yet he did not seem a prig. His manner, though dignified, was easy and natural; his eyes, though steady and penetrating, were kindly; his bearing had the repose of strength. It was too awful to contemplate what his estimate of herself would be if he knew; but then he mustneverknow!
As it was, he seemed inclined to be friendly and communicative, pleased when he met her strolling in the garden with Lady Alice, and gratified to find that she could accompany hisfiancee'ssongs. Indeed he said he had never heard Lady Alice sing so well as when Miss Liddell played for her.
Apart from the boys and Errington, Katherine found time hang very heavily on her hands. The aimless lingering over useless fancy-work or second-rate novels, the discussion of such gossip as their correspondence supplied, by means of which Mrs. Ormonde and Lady Alice got through the day, were infinitely wearisome to her.
Miles Errington was one of those happy individuals said to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The only son of a wealthy father, who, though enriched by trade, had come of an old Border race, he had had the best education money could procure. More fortunate still in the endowments of nature, he was well formed, strong, active, and blessed with perfect health; while mentally he was intelligent and reflective, thoughtful rather than brilliant, and by temperament profoundly calm. He had never got into scrapes or committed extravagance. He was the despair of managing mammas and fascinating young married women; yet he was not unpopular with either sex. Men respected his strong, steady character, his high standard, his sound judgment in matters affecting the stable and the race-course; women were attracted by his obligingness and generosity. Still he was the sort of man with whom few became intimate, and none dared take a liberty. Preserved by his fortunate surroundings and strong tranquil nature from difficulties or temptations, he could hardly understand the passionate outbreaks of weaker and more fiery men.
His greatest physical pleasure was an exciting run with the hounds; his deepest interest centred in politics; though never indulging in sentiment, he was an earnest patriot. Whether hecould be moved by more personal feelings remained to be proved. At present the sources of tenderer affection, if they existed, lay so deep below the strata of reason and common-sense that only some artesian process could pierce to the imprisoned spring's and set the "water of life" free, perhaps to bound, geyser-like, into the outer air.
Having travelled by sea and land, and looked into the social and political condition of many countries, having mixed much with men and women at home and abroad, Errington thought it time to take his place in the great commonwealth—to marry, and to try for a seat in the House of Commons. He therefore selected Lady Alice Mordaunt. She was rather pretty, graceful, gentle, and quite at his service. He really like her in a sort of fatherly way; he looked forward with quiet pleasure to making her very happy, and did not doubt she would in his hands mature into a sufficient companion, for though Errington was not naturally a selfish man, his life and training disposed him to look on those connected with him as on the whole created for him.
He had been absent for two or three days, having gone up to town to visit his father, who had been somewhat seriously unwell, and as he rode toward Castleford he gave more thought than usual to his youngfiancee. In truth, a visit to Colonel Ormonde was a great bore to him. He had nothing in common with the Colonel, whose pig-headed conservatism jarred on Errington's broader views, while his stories and reminiscences were exceedingly uninteresting, and sometimes worse. Mrs. Ormonde's small coquetries, her airs and graces, were equally unattractive to him. Still it was well to have Lady Alice at Castleford, within easy reach, while there was so much to occupy his time and attention in the country. As soon as he was sure of his election he would hasten his marriage, and perhaps get the honey-moon over in time to take his seat while there was still a month or two of the session unexpired.
From Lady Alice it was an easy transition of thought to the new guest at Castleford. Where had he seen her face? and with what was he associated in her mind? Nothing agreeable; of that he was quite sure. The vivid blush and indescribable shrinking he had noticed more than once (and Errington, like most quiet men, was a close observer) seemed unaccountable. Miss Liddell was far from shy; she was well-bred and evidently accustomed to society; her avoidance had therefore made the more impression. His experience of life had hitherto been exceedingly unemotional, and Katherine's unexpected betrayal of feeling puzzled him not a little.
At this point in his reflections he had reached that part of the road where it dipped into a hollow, on one side of which the Melford woods began. A steep bank rose on the right, thickly studded with beech and oak trees, still leafless, but the scanty, yellowish grass which grew beneath them was tufted with primroses and violets.
As Errington came round a bend in the little valley the sound of shrill, childish laughter came pleasantly to his ear, and the next minute brought him in sight of a lady in mourning whom he recognized immediately, and two little boys, who were high up the back, busily engaged filling a basket with sweet spring blossoms.
Errington paused, dismounted, and raising his hat, approached her.
"I did not expect so meetyouso far afield," he said. "You are not afraid of a long walk."
"My nephews have led me on from flower to flower," she returned, again coloring brightly, but not shrinking from his eyes. "Now I think it is time to go home."
"It is not late," he returned. "How is every one at Castleford?"
"Quite well. Lady Alice has lost her cold, and regained her voice—she was singing this morning," said Katherine, smiling as if she knew the real drift of his question.
"I am glad to hear it," he returned, soberly.
Errington and Lady Alice did not write to each other every day.
"Auntie," cried Cis, "the basket is quite full. If you open your sunshade and hold it upside-down, I can fill that too."
"No dear; you have quite enough. We must go back now."
"Oh, not yet, please?" The little fellow came tumbling down the bank, followed by Charlie, who immediately caught his aunt's hand and repeated, "Not yet, auntie!"
"These are Mrs. Ormonde's boys, I suppose?" said Errington.
"Yes; have you never seen them before?"
"Never. And have you not had enough climbing?" he added, good-humoredly, to Charlie.
"No, not half enough!" cried Cis. "There'ssucha bunch of violets just under that biggest beech-tree, nearly up at the top! Do let me gather them—just those; do—do—do!"
"Very well; do not go too fast, or you will break your neck."
Both boys started off, leaving their basket at Katherine's feet.
"I remember now," said Errington, looking at her, "where I saw I saw you before. Is was two—nearly three—years ago, at Hyde Park corner, when that elder boy had a narrow escape from being run over."
"Wereyouthere?" she exclaimed, so evidently surprised that Errington saw the impulse was genuine. "I recollect Mr. Payne and Colonel Ormonde; but I did not seeyou."
"Then wherehaveyou met me?" was at his lips, but he did not utter the words.
"Well, Payne was of real service; I did nothing. The little fellow had a close shave."
"He had indeed," said Katherine, thoughtfully, with downcast eyes; then, suddenly raising them to his, she said, as if to herself, "And you were there too! How strange it all is!"
"I see nothing so strange in it, Miss Liddell," smiling good-humoredly. "Have you any superstition on the subject?"
"No; I am not superstitious; yet it was curious—I mean, to meet by accident on that day just before—" She stopped. "And now I am connected with Colonel Ormonde, living with Mr. Payne's sister and—and talking here with—you."
"These coincidences occur perpetually when people move in the same set," returned Errington, feeling absurdly curious, and yet not knowing how to get at the train of recollection or association which underlay her words—words evidently unstudied and impulsive.
"I suppose so. And, you know—Mr. Payne," Katherine continued, quickly—"how good he is! He lives completely for others."
"Yes, I believe him to be thoroughly, honestly good. How hard he toils, and with what a pitiful result!"
"I wish he would go. Why does he stand there making conversation?" thought Katherine, while she said aloud: "I don't see that. If every one helped two or three poor creatures whom they knew, we should not have all this poverty and suffering which are distracting to think about."
"I doubt it; it would be more likely to pauperize the whole nation."
Here Charlie and Cis, with earth-stained knees and hands—the latter full of violets—reluctantly descended. Adding these to the basket already overflowing, they had a short wrangle as to who should carry it, and then Katherine turned her steps homeward. Errington passed the bridle over his arm, and to her great annoyance, walked beside her.
"Are you, then, disposed to give yourself to faith and to good works?"
"I do not know. I should like to help those who want, but I fear I am too fond of pleasure to sacrifice myself—at least I was and I suppose the love will return. Of course it is easy to give money; it is hard to give one's self."
"You seem very philosophic for so young a lady."
"I am not young," said Katherine, sadly; "I am years older than Lady Alice."
"How many—one or two?" asked Errington, in his kind, fatherly, somewhat superior tone, which rather irritated her.
"The years I mean are not to be measured by the ordinary standard; evenyoumust know that some years last longer—no, that is not the expression—press heavier than others."
"Even I? Do you think I am specially matter-of-fact?"
"I have no right to think you anything, for I do not know you; but you give me that impression."
"I dare say I am; nor do I see why I should object to be so considered."
Here Cecil, who got tired of a conversation from which he could gather nothing, put in his oar: "Are you Mr. Errington?"
"I am. How do you know my name?"
"I saw you going out with the Colonel to the meet—oh, a long while ago! And Miss Richards and nurse were talking about you."
"They said you had a real St. Bernard dog—one that gets the people out of the snow," cried Charlie. "Will you let him come here? I want to see him."
"Youhad better come and pay him a visit."
"Oh yes, thank you!" exclaimed Cis. "Auntie will take us, perhaps. Auntie will take us to the sea-side, and then we shall bathe, and go in boats, and learn to row."
"Cis, run with me to that big tree at the foot of the hill. Auntie will carry the basket," cried Charlie, and the next moment they were off.
"Fine little fellows," said Errington. "I like children."
"I am going to ask Mrs. Ormonde to lend them to me for a few months, for they are all I have of kith or kin."
"They are not at all like you," returned Errington, letting his quiet, but to her most embarrassing, eyes rest upon her face.
"Yet they are my only brother's children." Here Katherine paused with a sense of relief; they had reached a stile where a footway led across some fields and a piece of common overgrown with bracken and gorse. It was the short-cut to Castleford, by which Cecil had led her to the Melford Woods.
"Oh, do come round by the road, auntie," he exclaimed; "perhaps Mr. Errington will let me ride his horse."
"I do not know ifhewill, Cis, but I certainly will not. I am tired too, dear, and want to get home the shortest way I can, so bid Mr. Errington good-by, and come with me. No, don't shake hands; yours are much too dirty."
"Never mind; when you are a big boy I'll give you a mount. Good by, Master Charlie—youare Charlie, are you not? Till we meet at dinner, Miss Liddell." He raised his hat, and divining that she wished him to let her get over the stile unassisted, he mounted his horse and rode swiftly away.
"I am sure he would have given me a ride if you had gone by the road, auntie," said Cecil, reproachfully.
"I could not have allowed, you, dear; so do not think about it." Errington meanwhile rode on, unconsciously slackening his pace as he mused. "No, she certainly has never seen me before, yet she knows me. How? She was very glad to get rid of me just now. Why? I am inoffensive enough. There is something uncommon about her; she gives me the idea of having a history, which is anything but desirable for a young woman. What fine eyes she has! She is something like that Sibyl of Guercino's in the Capitol. Why does she object to me? It is rather absurd. I must make her talk, then I shall find out."
Here his horse started, and broke the thread of his reflections. By the time the steed had pranced and curvetted a little, Errington's thoughts had turned into some of their usual graver channels, and Katherine Liddell was—well, not absolutely forgotten.
The object of his reflections reached the house rather late for the boys' tea, and expecting to find her hostess and Lady Alice enjoying the same refreshment, she gave her warm out-door jacket to Cecil, who immediately put it on as the best mode of taking it upstairs, and went into Mrs. Ormonde's morning-room, where afternoon tea was always served. It was a pleasant room in warm summer weather, as its aspect was east, and the afternoons were cool and shady there; but of a chill evening at the end of March it was cold and dim, and needed the glow of a good fire to make it attractive.
Daylight still lingered to the sky, but was fast fading, and the dancing light of a cheerful fire was a pleasant contrast to the gray shadows without. The room was very nondescript; its furniture was of the spidery fashion which ruled when the "first gentleman" held the reins; thin hard sofas and scanty draperies were supplemented by Persian rugs and showy cushions, while various specimens of doubtful china crowded the mantel-piece and consoles. Mrs. Ormonde was quite innocent of original taste, but was a quick, industrious imitator, while of comfortable chairs she was a most competent judge.
Quite sure of finding Mrs. Ormonde, Lady Alice, and Miss Brereton—another visitor—refreshing themselves after their out-door exercise, and intending to announce the pleasant news of Errington's return, Katherine exclaimed, "Lady Alice!" as she crossed the threshold, then seeing no one, stopped.
"Lady Alice is not here," said a strong, harsh voice, and a tall figure in a shooting-coat and gaiters rose from the depths of a large arm-chair, the back of which was toward the door and stood before her.
Katherine was slightly startled, but guessed it was one of two guests expected to arrive that day. She advanced, therefore, and said, "Mrs. Ormonde is unusually late, but I am sure she will soon be here."
"Meantime tea is quite ready. It has stood twice the regulation five minutes; and is there any just cause or impediment why it should not be poured out?"
"Not that I am aware of," returned Katherine, taking off her hat and smoothing back her hair, which showed golden tints in the fitful fire-light.
The low tea-table was set before the fire, she drew a chair beside it and removed the cozy from the teapot.
Recognizing De Burgh from Mrs. Ormonde's description, she felt that he was even more at home at Castleford than herself, and she also came to the conclusion that he knew who she was. She had been prepared by Mrs. Ormonde's evident admiration to dislike De Burgh, having made up her mind that he would prove an empty-headed, insolent grandee, whose pretensions imposed upon her sister-in-law's somewhat slender experience, and whose life was probably given up to physical enjoyment. He had not, however, the aspect of a mere pleasure-seeker. His dark, strong face and bony frame looked as if he could work as well as play.
"Do you take sugar?"
"No, thank you; neither sugar nor cream."
"Neither? That is very self-denying!"
"Not self-denying! Were I foolish enough to do what I did not like, I should take the sugar and cream. They do not happen to please my palate."
"It is well we do not all like the same things."
"It is indeed!" He held his cup untasted for a moment, looking thoughtfully into the fire. "Tea is the best drink you can have in difficult, fatiguing journeys. Even the gold-diggers of Australia know that. They drink hard enough when they are on the spree, but when at work in earnest they stick to the teapot," he said, turning his eyes full upon her with a cool, critical gaze, which half amused, half irritated her. It was curious to sit there talking easily with a total stranger. Perhaps she ought to have left him to himself, but it was not much matter. Looking toward the window to avoid her companion's eyes, she exclaimed:
"It is raining quite fast! I am glad I brought the children home before this shower."
"An avant-courier of April. You were walking with Mrs. Ormonde's boys, then?"
"Yes; I take them out every day."
"An uncommonly good-looking governess," thought De Burgh. "You have not been here long, I think?" he said.
"About three weeks. The boys are quite used to me now, and enjoy their walks, for I take them outside the grounds," said Katherine, feeling sure that De Burgh must guess who she was.
"Indeed! You are a daring innovator. I suppose they were kept on the premises till you came?"
"They were; and it is always tiresome to be kept within bounds."
"I quite agree with you. The sentiment is extremely natural, only young ladies rarely confess it."
"Why?"
"Oh, you ought to know better than I do. You give me the idea of being a plucky woman."
"You must be quick in gathering ideas," said Katherine, dryly.
"Yes; some subjects inspire me," he returned, handing in his cup. "Another, please. I am a bit of a physiognomist. I think I could give a rough sketch of your character." He stirred the fire to a brighter blaze and added, "It is so deuced dark since that shower came on I can hardly see you, but I will tell you my ideas, if you care to hear them."
"Yes, I should," she returned, laughing. "It will be curious to hear the result of an instantaneous estimate. Why, five minutes ago you had never seen me."
"Five minutes? No; ten at least. Well, then, I should say you are a remarkably plucky girl, though perhaps not impervious to panic. And, let me see," fixing his keen, fierce eyes on hers, "gifted with no small power of enjoyment. With a strong dash of the rebel in you, and—well, I could tell you more, but I won't."
Katherine laughed good-humoredly.
"Have I hit it off?" he asked, after waiting for her to speak.
"I cannot tell. Do we ever know ourselves?"
"That's true; but few admit their ignorance. I begin to think that you are dangerous, in addition to your other qualities, as you can refrain from discussing yourself; that is a bait which draws out most women."
"And most men," added Katherine. "We haven't much to reproach each other with on that score."
"No, I must admit that. Self is a fascinating topic."
"Some more tea?" asked Katherine, demurely.
"No, thank you. I am not absolutely insatiable. Tell me," he went on, with a quaint familiarity which was not offensive, "how can a girl with your nature—mind, I have not told half I guess—how can you stand your life here—walking about with those brats, making tea while the others are out amusing themselves, hammering away at the same round day after day? You are made for different things."
"I should not care to live at Castleford all the days of my life," said Katherine, a little surprised by his question, and feeling there was a mistake somewhere; "but I do not intend to stay long."
"Oh, indeed! How do you get on with Mrs. Ormonde? She doesn't worry you about the boys? She is a jolly, pretty little woman; but you are not exactly the sort of young lady I should have fancied would be her choice."
"Why not?" asked Katherine, beginning to see his mistake.
"Because"—began De Burgh, looking full at her, and then paused. "You are too handsome by half!" were the words on his lips, but he did not utter them; he substituted, "You don't seem quite the thing for Mrs. Ormonde."
"She finds I suit her admirably," said Katherine, gravely.
"I don't quite understand"—De Burgh was beginning, when the door opened to admit Mrs. Ormonde.
"Ah, Mr. De Burgh, I did not expect you so early; but I am glad Katherine was here to give you your tea. It is not necessary to introduce you. I was afraid you would have been caught in that shower, Katie."
"We just escaped it. I hope Lady Alice has found shelter, or she will renew her cold."
"You are Miss Liddell, then?" said De Burgh, as he placed a chair for Mrs. Ormonde and took her cloak.
"To be sure. Didn't you guess who she was?"
"Mr. De Burgh guessed a good deal, but he did not guess my identity," said Katherine, handing her a cup of tea.
"What! Were you playing at cross questions and crooked answers?"
"Something of that sort," he returned, and changed the subject by asking if they had heard how Errington's father was.
"Better, I suppose, for Mr. Errington has returned. He met us when we were in Melford Woods."
"I dare say he met Alice and Miss Brereton, then," said Mrs. Ormonde; "they were riding in that direction."
"Lady Alice will be taken care of, then," said Katherine, and taking her hat she went away, seeing that Mrs. Ormonde was quite ready to absorb the conversation.
"So that is Katherine Liddell," said De Burgh, looking after her, regardless of Mrs. Ormonde's declaration that she was going to scold him.
"Yes. Is she not like what you expected?"
"Expected? I did not expect anything; but she isn't a bit like what you described."
"How so? Did I say too much?"
"Yes, a great deal too much, but the wrong way."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you talked as if she was a regular gushing school-girl, ready to swallow any double-barrelled compliment one chose to offer, whereas she is a finely developed woman, by Jove! with brains too, or I am much mistaken. Why, my charming little friend, she is older in some ways than you are."
"Oh, nonsense. You need not flatterme."
"It's not flattery, it's—"
The arrival of the riding party with the addition of Errington prevented him from finishing his sentence.
De Burgh was told off to take Katherine in to dinner that day and the next, and bestowed a good deal of his attention on her during the evening. He rather amused her, for he was a new type to her. The men she had met during her sojourn on the Continent were chiefly polished French and Italians, whose softness and respectful manner to women were perhaps exaggerated, and a sprinkling of diplomatic and dilettante Englishmen. De Burgh's style was curiously—almost roughly—frank, yet there was an unmistakable air of distinction about him. He seemed not to think it worth while to take trouble about anything, yet he could talk well when by chance a topic interested him, Katherine would have been very dull had she not perceived that he was attracted by her. She was by no means so exalted a character as to be indifferent to his tribute; nevertheless she was half afraid of the cynical, outspoken, high-born Bohemian, who seemed to have small respect for people or opinions. She showed little of this feeling, however, having held her own with spirit in their various arguments, as, it need scarcely be said, they rarely agreed.
"What is this mysterious piece of work I see constantly in your hands?" asked De Burgh, taking his place beside Katherine when the men came in after dinner a few days after his arrival.
"It is a black silk stocking for Cecil."
"One of the nephews, eh? So you are capable of knitting! It must be a dreary occupation."
"No; it becomes mechanical, and it is better than sitting with folded hands."
"I am not sure it is. I have great faith in natures that can take complete rest—men who can do nothing, absolutely nothing—and so create a reserve fund of fresh energy for the next hour of need. There is no strength in fidgety feverishness."
"There is not much feverishness in knitting," returned Katherine, beginning a new row.
"There is very little feverishness aboutyou, yet you are not placid. I am extending and verifying my original estimate of your character, you see."
"A most interesting occupation," said Katherine, carelessly.
"Yes, most interesting. I wish I had more frequent opportunities of studying it; but one never sees you all day. Where do you hide yourself?"
"I take long rambles with the children, and—" She paused.
"Does it amuse you to play nurse-maid?"
"Yes, at present. Then my nephews and I were playfellows long ago."
"I imagine it is a taste that will not last."
"Perhaps not."
"Miss Brereton and Lady Alice, with Errington and myself, are going to ride over to Melford Abbey to-morrow. You will, I hope, be of the party?"
"Thank you. I do not ride."
"It is rather refreshing to meet a young lady who is not horsy, but it is a loss to yourself not to ride."
"I dare say it is. Yet what one has never known cannot be a loss. I am sorry I was not accustomed to ride in my youth."
"It is not too late to learn, remote as that period must be," said De Burgh, smiling. "You are in the headquarters of horsemen and horsewomen at present. Appoint me your riding-master, and in a couple of months I shall be proud of my pupil."
"I am not particularly brave," she returned, "and the experiment would produce more pain than pleasure."
"Pain! nothing of the kind. I have a capital lady's horse, steady as a rock, splendid pacer, temper of an angel. He is quite at your service. Let me telegraph for him, and begin your lessons the day after to-morrow." De Burgh raised himself from his lounging position, and leaned forward to urge his pleading more earnestly. "Let me persuade you. You will thank me hereafter."
"Thank you," said Katherine, shaking her head. "It is too late. I shall never learn how to ride, but I should like to know how to drive."
"There I can be of use to you too. You will want an instructor. Pray take me!"
The last words, spoken a little louder than the rest, caught Mrs. Ormonde's ear as she was crossing the room, and she paused beside her sister-in-law to ask, "Take him for what?—for better or worse, Katherine?"
"Blundering little idiot!" thought De Burgh; while Katherine answered, with remarkable composure.
"Nothing so formidable; only to be my instructor in the art of driving."
"Well, and do you accept?"
"Yes; I shall be very pleased to learn. I should like to be able to 'conduct' a pair of ponies, as the French would say."
"Ah yes! and cut a dash in the Park," said Mrs. Ormonde, taking the seat De Burgh reluctantly vacated for her. "I don't see why she should not, Mr. De Burgh; do you?"
"Certainly not, provided only Miss Liddell can handle the ribbons."
"Very well, Katherine: you devote yourself to acquire the art here, and then join us in a house in town this spring. I was reading the advertisements in theTimesto-day. I always look at the houses to let, and there is one to let in Chester Square which would suit us exactly; that is, if you will join. She ought to have a season in town, ought she not, Mr. De Burgh?"
He looked keenly at Katherine, and smiled. "Yes, Miss Liddellought to taste the incomparable delights of the season by all means. Life is incomplete without it."
"I should like to experience it certainly, for once, but I shall be more in the mood for such excitements next year—perhaps," returned Katherine, gravely.
"Oh, my dear Katie, never put things off! At all events, be presented. That would be a sort of beginning; and I am to be presented too, so we might go together."
"I do not intend to be presented," said Katherine; "it would be needless trouble. I have not the least ambition to go to court."
"But, Katherine, it is absolutely necessary to take your proper position in society. It is not, Mr. De Burgh?"
"What is your objection?" asked De Burgh, disregarding his hostess. "Are you too radical, or too transcendental, or what?"
"Neither. I simply do not care to go, and do not see the necessity of going."
"You were always the strangest girl!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, a good deal annoyed. "But still, if you were withus, you might see a good deal—"
"You know, Ada, I am fixed for this year, and would not change even if I could."
"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Errington, coming from the next room. "But if you are disengaged, Lady Alice would be greatly obliged by your playing for her."
"Certainly," cried Katherine. She had a sort of pleasure in obliging Errington, and Lady Alice for his sake; and putting her knitting into its little case, she rose and accompanied him to what was called the music-room, because it contained a grand piano and an old, nearly stringless violin.
"I don't think," said De Burgh, looking after her, "that your sister-in-law is quite as much under your influence as you fancy."
"Oh, don't you?" cried Mrs. Ormonde, feeling a flash of dislike to Katherine thrill through her. It was terribly trying to find an admirer, of whom she was so proud, drawn from her by that "tiresome, obstinate girl"; it was also enough to vex a saint to see her turn a deaf ear to her more experienced and highly placed sister's suggestion. "When you know a little more of her you will see how obstinate and headstrong she is."
"Ah! troublesome qualities those, especially in a rich woman, and a handsome one to boot. There is something very taking about that sister-in-law of yours, Mrs. Ormonde. If I were Lady Alice I wouldn't trust Errington with her: she would be a dangerous rival."
"Oh, nonsense! Do you think our Admirable Crichton could go wrong?"
"I don't know. If he ever does, he'll go a tremendous cropper."
"Well, Mr. De Burgh, if you would like to go in and win, you had better make the running now. Once she 'comes out' in town, you will find a host of competitors."
"Ha! I suppose you think a rugged fellow like me would have little or no chance with the curled darlings of May Fair and South Kensington?" Mrs. Ormonde looked down on her fan, but did notspeak. De Burgh laughed. "Who is going to bring her out?" he asked.
"I am," with dignity.
De Burgh's reply was short and simple. He said, "Oh!" and the interjection (is there an interjection now?—I am not young enough to know) brought the color to Mrs. Ormonde's cheek and a frown to her fair brow. "The young lady is, on the whole, original," he continued. "She does not care to be presented."
"Do you believe her? I don't. She only said so from love of contradicting."
"Yes, I believe her; she does not care about it now; but she will probably get the court fever after a plunge into London life. Who is singing?—that is something different from the penny whistling Lady Alice gives us."
"Why it must be Katherine! It is the first time she has sung since she came. She is always afraid of breaking down, she says. I don't believe she has sung since the death of her mother." De Burgh's only reply was to walk into the next room. Leaving Mrs. Ormonde in a state of irritation against him, Katherine, and the world in general.
Katherine was singing a gay Neapolitan air. She had a rich, sympathetic voice, and sang with arch expression.
Errington stood beside her, and Lady Alice, the rector's wife and one or two other guests, were grouped round.
"Thank you. That is thoroughly Italian. You must have studied a good deal," said Errington, who rather liked music, and was accustomed to the best.
"Very nice indeed," added Lady Alice. "Very nice" was her highest praise. "I should like to learn the song."
"I do not think it would suit you," observed Errington.
"Why, Katherine, I had no notion you could 'tune up' in this way," cried Colonel Ormonde. "Give us another, like a good girl; something English—'Robin Adair.' There was a fellow in 'ours' used to sing it capitally."
"I cannot sing it, Colonel Ormonde. I am very sorry."
"Oh, Katherine! I have heard you sing it a hundred times," cried Mrs. Ormonde, joining them. "Why, it was a great favorite with poor dear Mrs. Liddell."
"I cannot sing it, Ada," repeated Katherine, quick and low. As she spoke she caught Errington's eyes.
"No one ought to dictate to a songstress," he said, very decidedly. "Give us anything you like, so long as you sing."
Kate bent her head, feeling that he understood her, and her hands wandered over the keys for a minute; then, with a glance at Colonel Ormonde, she began "Jock o' Hazeldean."
Katherine was not the kind of girl to nurse her grief, to dwell upon it with morbid insistence: but she remembered, warmly, lovingly. At times gusts of passionate regret swept over her and shook her self-control, and she dared not attempt her mother's favorite song; the mere request for it called up a cloud of memories. She saw the dear face, the sweet faded blue eyes that used to dwell upon her so tenderly, with such unutterable content. No other eyeswould ever look upon her thus; never again could she hope for such perfect sympathy as she had once known.
"Does that make up for 'Robin Adair,' Colonel Ormonde?" she said when the song was ended.
"A very good song and very well sung, but it's not equal to 'Robin Adair.'"
"Lady Alice, will you try that duet of Helmer's?" asked Katherine; and Lady Alice graciously assented.
"I shall miss your accompaniment dreadfully when I leave," she said, when the duet was accomplished. "I feel so sure when you play, and you help me. I hope you will come and see me. Lady Mary, my aunt, would be very pleased; don't you think she would?" to Errington, appealingly.
"Certainly. I hope, Miss Liddell, you will not desert Alice. If you will permit it, Lady Mary Vincent will have the pleasure of calling on you."
"That will be very kind," returned Katherine, softly. If this man were safely married and settled, she thought, she would like to be friends with his wife, and serve him in any way she could. If his eyes did not always confuse and distress her, how much she could like him!
As she rose from the piano, De Burgh, who had been speaking aside with Colonel Ormonde, left him to join her. "I have settled it all with Ormonde," he said. "I am to have the pony-carriage and the dun ponies (not those Mrs. Ormonde generally drives) to-morrow; so, if it does not rain, I'll give you your first lesson; that is,ifyou will allow me."
"You are very prompt," returned Katherine, "and very good to take so much trouble. If it is fine, then, to-morrow. Pray arm yourself with patience. Are not the dun ponies rather frisky?"
"Spirited, but free from vice. Ormonde had them frommystables. It's no use learning to drive with dull, inanimate brutes. You'll consider yourself engaged?"
"I do, if Mrs. Ormonde does not want me to go anywhere with her."
"She will not," said De Burgh, confidently.
"Good-night," returned Katherine. "Tell Mrs. Ormonde I have stolen away, for I have a slight headache."
"What? going already?" cried De Burgh. "No more songs? The evening, then, is over."
The following day was soft and bright. March had evidently made up his martial mind to go out in a lamb-like fashion, and De Burgh was unusually amiable and communicative. "When shall you be ready to start?" he asked, following Katherine from the breakfast-table.
"To start where?" she asked.
"What! have you forgotten our plans of last night?" was his counter-question. "I am to give you your first lesson in driving this morning. I only wait your orders before going to see the ponies put in. We had better take advantage of the fine morning."
"Ay, that's right, De Burgh; make hay while the sun shines,"said Ormonde, with his usual tact and jocularity. "But it would be better to have tried a quieter pair than Dick and Dandie."
"I think you may trust Miss Liddell to me," returned De Burgh, impatiently. "Well, when shall I bring round the trap?"
"Whenever you like. I am afraid you have set yourself a tiresome task."
De Burgh laughed. "If you prove careless or disobedient, why, I'll not repeat the dose. In half an hour, then, I'll have the carriage at the door."
That half-hour was spent by Katherine in explaining to Cis and Charlie that she could not go out with them that day, for the morning was promised to De Burgh, and after luncheon she had undertaken to try over the song which had pleased her with Lady Alice, who was to leave the next day. The little fellows thought themselves very ill-used. But Miss Richards, who had greatly prized her deliverance from long muddy rambles since Katherine's advent, promised to take them to fish in a stream which ran between the Castleford and Melford properties.
"Do you suppose I shall dare to touch the reins of these terrible creatures?" said Katherine when De Burgh dashed up to the door, and held the spirited, impatient animals steady with some difficulty.
"We'll get rid of some of the steam first, and you will get accustomed to their playfulness," he returned. "Here, Ormonde, haven't you a rug for Miss Liddell? It may come on to rain."
"Yes; here you are;" and Colonel Ormonde, who was examining the turn-out, tucked up his fair guest carefully, and warned them to be back in good time, as he wanted De Burgh to ride over with him to see some horses which were for sale a mile or two at the other side of Monckton.
"What a frightful pace;" said Katherine, after they had whirled out of the gates, yet feeling comforted by De Burgh's evident mastery of the ponies.
"You are not frightened? Don't you think I can manage them?"
"I am not comfortable, because I am not accustomed to horses and furious driving."
"Oh, they will settle down presently. Where shall we go—through Garston? It's a fine place. Perhaps you have seen it?"
"I have not, and I should like to see it very much." She was delighted with the suggestion. It would be a help to her, a consolation, to see so visible a token of Errington's wealth.
"Curious fellow, Errington," resumed De Burgh. "I suppose he is about the only man who isn't spoiled by the most unbroken prosperity. Still, a fellow who never did anything wrong in his life is rather uninteresting; don't you think so?"
"Has he never done anything wrong? That seems rather incredible."
"If he has, he has kept it deucedly close. But you are right; it is very incredible."
They drove on for a while in silence. It was a delicious morning—a blue sky flecked with fleecy white clouds, bright sunlight, birds singing, hedges budding, all nature welcoming the first sweet intoxication of renewed youth stirring in her veins. Katherine loved the spring-time, and felt its influence profoundly, but it was the first spring in which she had been alone; this time last year she—they—had been at Bordighera. How heavenly fair it had been! But De Burgh was speaking:
"You did not hear, or rather heed, what I said, Miss Liddell; that's not civil."
"Indeed it is not—forgive me. What did you say?"
"I suppose you like country life best, as you demolished Mrs. Ormonde's scheme respecting a house in town so promptly?"
"I enjoy looking at the country, but I know nothing of country life. I am not sure I should like it."
"What's your objection to drawing-rooms and balls—the season generally?"
"I do not object; but is my deep mourning suited to these gayeties, Mr. De Burgh?"
"Well, no. I beg your pardon. Mrs. Ormonde started it, you know. I fancy it would take double-distilled mourning to keep her out of the swim."
"It is impossible for one nature to judge another which is totally different, fairly."
"Very true and very prudent. I have not got to the bottom of your character yet, but I am pursuing my studies," said De Burgh, with a grim sort of smile. "You see they are settling down to their work now," pointing his whip to the ponies. "I'll give you the reins in a minute or two."
"I think I ought to begin with something quieter," said Katherine, looking at them uneasily.
De Burgh laughed. "There is a nice stretch of level road before us—nothing to interfere with you. Change places with me, if you please. Here, put the reins between your fingers—so; now a turn of the wrist guides them. I'll hold your hand for a bit. You had better not let the whip touch them—so. There you are. I'll show you how to handle the ribbons before you are a fortnight older; that is if you will come out every day with me."
"Would you take that trouble?" exclaimed Katherine.
"I can take a good deal of trouble if I like my work. Now hold them steady, and keep your eye on them. When we come to the trees, on there, turn to the left."
"So far there doesn't seem to be much difficulty; they seem to go all right of their own accord," she said, after a few minutes.
"They are a capital pair; but there is nothing to disturb them."
For the rest of the way to Garston, De Burgh only spoke to give the lesson he had undertaken, and Katherine found herself growing interested and pleased. When they entered the gates, however, she asked him to take the reins. She wanted to look about her, to remark the surroundings of Errington's house.
It was a fine place, somewhat flat, perhaps, but beautiful with splendid trees, and a small lake, through which ran the stream in another part of which Cis and Charlie were going to fish. Thehouse stood well, the grounds were admirably laid out and perfectly kept; evidences of wealth were on all sides.
"I suppose it costs a great deal of money to keep up a place like this," said Katherine, breaking a silence which had lasted some minutes: De Burgh never troubled himself to speak unless he really had something to say.
"I shouldn't care to live here on less than ten thousand a year," he returned, glancing round.
"And has Mr. Errington all that money?"
"His father has a good deal more. He bought this place for him, I believe. Old Errington is very wealthy, and on his last legs, from what I hear."
"Ten thousand a year! What a quantity of money!"
"Hem! I think I could get through it without much trouble."
"Then you have always been rich?"
"Rich! I have been on the verge of bankruptcy all my life. I never knew what it was to have enough money."
"But you seem to have gone everywhere and done everything."
"Yes, by discounting my future at a ruinous rate," he returned, with a sort of reckless candor that amused his hearer. "You scarcely understand me, I suppose."
"I think I do. I know how uncomfortable it is to want money."
"Indeed! Still, it's not so hard on women as on men."
"Why?"
"We want so much more."
"Then you have so many more chances of earning it."
"Earning it! Oh, that is a new view of the case!"
"I should not mind doing it; that is, if I could succeed."
"Do you know, I took you for your nephews' governess. It never crossed my mind you were an heiress. As a rule, heiresses are revolting to the last degree."
"I feel the compliment."
"Remember, I like their money, only I object to its being encumbered."
"You are wonderfully frank, Mr. De Burgh."
"I dare say you said 'brutally frank' in your thoughts, Miss Liddell, and you are right. I am rather a bad lot, and a little too old to mend. But let it be a saving clause in your mind, if I ever recur to it, that the fact of your being nice enough for the governess impelled me to offer driving lessons to the heiress. Will you take the reins? You might hold them forever if you choose."
"Not yet, thank you—when we get out on the road again," returned Katherine, not seeing or seeming to see his covert meaning. "You are surely not a democrat?"
"A democrat? No. I have no particular view as regards politics; but if the devil ever got so completely the upper hand in this world as to leave it without a class to serve and obeyus, their natural superiors, I'd decline to stay here any longer, and descend by the help of a bullet to lower regions, where I should have better society."
"More congenial society, I am sure," said Katherine, laughing, though revolted by his tone. She felt it would never do to show she was. "You are quite different from any oneIever met. Do youknow, you give me the idea of a wicked Norman Baron in the Middle Ages."
De Burgh laughed, as if he rather enjoyed the observation. "I know," he said; "a regular melodramatic villain, 'away with him to the lowest dungeon beneath the castle moat' sort of fellow, who would draw a Jew's teeth before breakfast and roast a restive burgher after. I wonder, considering you possess the two strongest attractions for men of this description—money and (may I say it?) beauty—that you trust yourself with me."
"Ah! you concealed your vile opinions successfully; so you see I could not know my danger," returned Katherine, laughing. "You are not at all a modern man."
"I accept the compliment."
"Which I did not intend for one. When we get through the gates I will take the reins again."
"Certainly; but the ponies' heads will be turned homeward, and I am afraid they will pull. They have steadied down wonderfully." The rest of the drive was spent in careful instruction, and Katherine was surprised to find how quickly the time had gone when they reached the house.
De Burgh interested her in spite of her dislike of the opinions and sentiments he expressed. There was something picturesque about the man, and she felt that he was attracted to her in a curious and almost alarming manner. Yet she was conscious of an inclination to play with fire. It was some time since she felt so light-hearted. The sight of Errington's luxurious surroundings seemed to take something from the load upon her conscience, and this sense of partial relief gave brilliancy to her eyes, as the fresh balmy air gave her something of her former rich coloring.
"By Jove!" cried Colonel Ormonde, as Katherine took her place at luncheon, "your drive has agreed with you. I've never seen you look so well. You must pursue the treatment. How did she get on, De Burgh?"
"Not so badly. But Miss Liddell is more timid than I expected. She'll get accustomed to the look of the cattle in a little while. Courage is largely made up of a habit. I'll take some of that cold lamb, Ormonde." And De Burgh spoke no more till he had finished his luncheon.
"Do you know, Miss Liddell, that my father was an old friend of your uncle's?" said Errington that evening, as he placed himself beside her on a retired sofa, while Miss Brereton was executing some gymnastics on the piano. "I have just been taking to Ormonde about him. I remember having been sent to call upon him—long ago, when I was at college, I think. He lived in some wild north-land; I remember it was a great way off. Then my father went for a trip to Calcutta, and I fancy lost sight of his old chum."
Katherine grew red and white as he spoke; she could only murmur, "Yes, I was told they had been friends."
"Then you must accept me as a hereditary friend," said Errington, kindly. "I shall tell my father that I have made your acquaintance, though he does not take much interest in anything now, I am sorry to say."
"I am sorry—" faltered Katherine.
"Both Lady Alice and I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in town," continued Errington, having waited in vain for her to finish her sentence. "I am going to see her safely in her aunt's charge to-morrow, and shall not return, I fancy, till you have left."
"You are both very good. I shall be most happy to see you again," returned Katherine, mastering her forces, though she felt ready to fly and hide her guilty head in any corner. Errington felt that she was unusually uneasy and uncomfortable with him, so made way the more readily for De Burgh, who monopolized her for rest of the evening.
The next day was wet, and for a week the weather was unsettled, so that Katherine had only one more lesson in driving before the party broke up, and De Burgh too was obliged to leave.
But Katherine prolonged her stay. Charlie, in ardor for fishing, had slipped into the river and caught a severe, feverish cold.
The way in which he clung to his auntie, the evident comfort he derived from her presence, the delight he had in holding her cool soft hand in his own burning little fingers, made him impossible for her to leave him. By the time he was able to sit up and play with his brother, poor Charlie was a pallid little skeleton, and his auntie bade him a tender adieu, determined to lose no time in finding sea-side quarters for the precious invalid.
Miss Payne was busy looking over several cards which lay in a small china dish on her work-table. It was early in the forenoon, and she still wore a simple muslin cap and a morning gown of gray cashmere. Her mouth looked very rigid and her eyes gloomy. To her enters her brother, fresh and bright, a smile on his lips and a flower in his button-hole.
Miss Payne vouchsafed no greeting. Looking at him sternly, she asked, "Well! what do you want?"
"To ask at what hour Miss Liddell arrives, and if I am to meet her at the station."
"She is not coming to-day," snapped Miss Payne; "she is not coming till Saturday."
"Indeed!" In a changed tone, "I hope she is all right?"
"It's hard to answer that. It seems one of the nephews has had a feverish cold, and she did not like to leave him. I do not feel sure there is not some real reason under this, for she adds that she is anxious to see and consult me about some matter she has much at heart. Perhaps there is a man at the bottom of it."
"I hope not," said Bertie, quietly, "unless she has found some former friend at Castleford. I do not think Miss Liddell is the sort of girl to accept a man on five or six weeks' acquaintance, and she has scarcely been at Castleford so long."
"It is impossible to fathom the folly of women when a lover is in the case."
"You are hard, Hannah."
"I do not care whether I am or not. I don't want to lose Miss Liddell before the time agreed for."
"No doubt she is a profitable—"
"It is no question of profit," interrupted Miss Payne, grimly. "Whether she goes or whether she stays she is bound to me financially for twelve months. But I am interested in Katherine, and it will be far better for her to stay on here and feel her way before she launches into the whirl of what they call society. I want to save her for a while from the wild rush of dressing, driving, dining, dancing, that has swept away all my girls sooner or later. Look here: the mothers are flocking round her already." She began to take the cards out of the dish and read the names: "Lady Mary Vincent, 23 Waldegrave Crescent; she is a sister of that Lord Melford who ran such a rig years ago.Herboys are still at Eton. I suppose she comes because her niece and Miss Liddell have struck up a friendship at Castleford. Then here are Mrs. and Miss Alford; we all knew them in Rome; there's a sonthere; they are respectable people, well off, and fighting their way up judiciously enough. Lady Barrington;shehas a nephew, but she will be useful. Mr. and Mrs. Tracey; they were at Florence, and have a couple of daughters; there may be a nephew or a cousin, but I never heard of one; they are pleasant, sensible, artistic people, who just enjoy themselves and don't trouble. Lady Mildred Reptan, Miss Brereton, John de Burgh; I don't know these. All these people evidently think she is in town, or have only just come themselves, but you see the outlook."
"John de Burgh," repeated Bertie, thoughtfully. "I remember something about him; nothing particularly good. I believe he is on the turf. Yes, he is a famous steeple-chase rider, and rather fast—not too desirable a follower for Miss Liddell."
"She met him at Castleford, and I rather think he is related to Colonel Ormonde." Miss Payne put back the cards in the dish as she spoke, and remained silent for some instants.
"You will be glad when Miss Liddell returns," said Bertie.
"So will you," she returned, tartly. "But I hope you won't dip into her purse so freely as you used for your reformed drunkards and ragged orphans. It wastoobad."
"Miss Liddell never waits to be asked. She seems on the lookout for cases on which to bestow money. As she has plenty, why should I hesitate to accept it?"
Miss Payne slowly rubbed her nose with the handle of a small hook she used for pulling out the loops of her tatting. "Katherine Liddell is an uncommon sort of girl," she said, "but I like her. I have an idea that she likes me better than any of the others did, yet there are not many things on which we agree. She is a little flighty in some ways, but she has some sense too, some notion of the value of money; she does not lose her dead about dress, nor does she buy costly baubles at the jewellers'. She, certainly wastes a good many pounds on books, when a three-guinea subscription to Mudie's wouldanswer the purpose quite as well. Then she is honestly deeply grieved at the loss of her mother, but she does not parade it, or nurse it either, and I think she has some opinion ofmyjudgment. Still she is a little unsettled, and not quite happy."
"I think she deserves to be happy," observed Bertie, with an air of conviction—"if any erring mortal can deserve anything."
"We seldom get our deserts, either way,here; indeed, this world is so upside down I am inclined to believe there must be another to put it straight."
"We have fortunately better proof than that," returned her brother, gravely.
"I must say I feel very curious to know what Katherine's plan is; I am terrible afraid there is a man in it."
"Nothing more probable;" and Bertie fell into a fit of thought. "You know Mrs. Needham!" he asked suddenly.
"Well, I just know her."
"She is a most earnest, energetic woman, though we are not quite of one mind on all subjects. She wants to secure Miss Liddell's assistance in getting up a bazar for the Stray Children's Home. I shall bring her to call on you."
"Don't!"—very emphatically. "I know more than enough people already, and I don't want any well-dressed beggars added to the number."
"Well, I will not interfere; but that is of little consequence. If Mrs. Needham wants to come, she'll come."
"I hate these fussy subscription-hunting women!" cried Miss Payne.
"She doesnothunt for subscriptions, nor does she take any special interest in religious matters, but she approves of this particular charity. She is an immensely busy woman, and writes in I don't know now many newspapers."
"Newspapers! And are our opinions made up for us by rambling hussies ofthatdescription?"
Bertie burst out laughing. "If Mrs. Needham heard you!" he exclaimed. "She considers herself 'the glass of fashion and the mould of form,' the most successful and important woman in the world—the English world."
Miss Payne's only reply was a contemptuous upward toss of the head. "If you will be at Euston Square on Saturday to meet the five-fifty train from Monckton," she resumed, "I should be obliged to you—Miss Liddell travels alone—and you can dine with us if you like after, unless you are going to preach the gospel somewhere."
"Thank you. Why do you object to my preaching?"
"Because I like things done decently and in order. You are not ordained, and there are plenty of churches and chapels, God knows, for people to go to, if they would wash their faces and be decent. Now I can't stay here any longer, so good-by for the present." She took up a little basket containing an old pair of gloves, large scissors, and a ball of twine, and walked briskly away to attend to the plants in her diminutive conservatory.
De Burgh did not prolong his absence; he returned to Castlefordwhile Katherine was still in attendance on the little invalid; but he found his stay neither pleasant nor profitable. Katherine was far too much occupied nursing her nephew to give any time or attention to her impatient admirer.
"Miss Liddell is a peculiar specimen of her sex," he growled, in his usual candid and unaffected manner, as he and Colonel Ormonde sat alone over their wine. "She never leaves those brats. She must know that it's not every girlIshould take the trouble of teaching, and yet she throws over each appointment I make. Does she intend to adopt your wife's boys? Adopted sons are an appendage no man would like to accept with a bride, be she ever so well endowed."
"Oh, she will forget them as soon as she falls in love! You must carry on the siege more vigorously."
"How the deuce are you to do it when you never get within hail of the fortress? There is something peculiar about Katherine Liddell I can't quite make out. If she were a commonplace woman, angular, squinting, or generally plain, I could go in and win and collar the cash without hesitation, but somehow or other I can't go into the affair in this spirit. I want the woman as well as the money."
"Well, I see no reason why you shouldn't have both. Your faintness of heart never lostyouany fair lady, I am sure, Jack."
"Perhaps not." And he smoked meditatively for a minute or two.
"Then you will not leave us to-morrow?" said Ormonde.
"When doesshego up to town?" asked De Burgh.
"On Monday, I believe."
"Then I'll run up the day after to-morrow. Old De Burgh has just come back from the Riviera. I'll go and do the dutiful, and tell him I have found a suitable partner for my joys and sorrows; it will score to my credit. He doesn't half like me, you know. Then I'll have a dozen better chances to cultivate Miss Liddell in town, and away from your nursery, than I have here. Give me her address. She is a frank, unconventional creature, and won't mind coming out with me alone."
"Very true. Mrs. Ormonde has persuaded me to take her to town for a couple of months; so we'll be there to back you up."
"Good! Meanwhile I will do my best for my own hand. If she starts on Monday, I'll pay my respects to the peerless one by the time she has swallowed her luncheon on Tuesday," said De Burgh, with a harsh laugh.
Thus it came to pass that De Burgh's card was amongst those preserved for Katherine's inspection; but she postponed her departure first to Wednesday, next to Saturday, and De Burgh grew savagely impatient when Colonel Ormonde informed him of these changes in a private note.
When at last she did arrive, Miss Payne was struck by the look of renewed hope and cheerfulness in her young friend's face. Her movements even were more alert, and her voice had lost its languid tone.
"I thought you would find it difficult to get away," said MissPayne, as she assisted her to remove her travelling dress. "But I am very pleased to see you again, and to see you looking more like yourself."
"Ifeelmore like my old self," returned Katherine, actually kissing Miss Payne—a kind of treatment exceedingly new to her.
"In fact, I am full of a project which will, I hope, make me much happier. I will tell you all about it after dinner, if we are alone. Your advice will be of great value to me."
"Such as it is, I shall be glad to give it; though I do not suppose you'll take it unless it suits your wishes."
"Perhaps not," said Katherine, laughing; "but I think it will."
"She is going to marry some fortune-hunting scamp," thought Miss Payne. "I was afraid no good would come of her visit to that little dressy dolly sister-in-law of hers." She only said, "Dinner will be ready in half an hour, and we shall be quite alone."
Then she went quickly down stairs to her brother, who was gazing out of the window, but not seeing what he looked at.
"You can't dine here to-day, Bertie," said Miss Payne, abruptly, as she entered the room.
"And why not?"
"Because she wants to have some confidential conversation with me after dinner, and we must be alone."
"Have you any idea what it will be about?"
"No; and I am astonished at your putting the question. You may come in after church to-morrow if you like."
"Thank you. I shall be rather late, as I am going to an open-air service beyond Whitechapel."
"Well, I do hope you'll get something to eat after. Areyougoing to preach?"
"No. I seldom preach. I haven't the gift of eloquence."
"Which means you have a little common-sense left. Really, Gilbert, for a man of thirty-five, or nearly thirty-five, you are too credulous."
"It is my nature to be so," he returned, laughing. "Well, good-by to you. It is really unkind to turn me out in this unceremonious fashion." So saying, with his usual sweet-tempered compliance he departed.
"What a good boy he is!" said Miss Payne to herself, looking at the grate, while by a dual brain action she made a brief calculation as to how much longer she must burn coal. "He ought to have been a girl. Why don't rich young women see that he is the very stuff to make a pleasant husband, instead of those monsters of strength and determination that fools of women make gods of, and themselves door mats for, and often find to be only big pumpkins after all?"
Miss Payne's anticipations were of the gloomiest when, after their quickly despatched dinner, she settled herself between the fire and window with her favorite tatting, drawing up the knots with vicious energy. She opened proceedings by an interrogative "Well?" and closed her mouth with a snap.
"Well, my dear Miss Payne," began Katherine, who had settled herself comfortably in a corner of the sofa, "I have an importantplan in my mind, and I want your co-operation. I should have written to you about it, only I waited to get Colonel Ormonde's consent."
"It's a man!" ejaculated Miss Payne to herself.
"To begin: I was not at all satisfied with the boys when I first went to Castleford. They were not exactly neglected, but they were quite secluded. Mrs. Ormonde scarcely saw them, and their governess or attendant was not at all lady-like; she speaks with a London accent and misplaces herh's; altogether she is not the sort of person I should have placed with the boys. Then the poor little fellows clung to me and monopolized me as if I had been their mother; they made me feel like one. Moreover, I seemed to see my own dear mother and hear her voice when they spoke to me. She loved them so much!"
Katherine paused suddenly, but almost immediately resumed: "The youngest, Charlie, is not yet seven, and is very delicate. He has had rather a sharp attack of bronchitis. I am very anxious about him. How I want to take them to the sea-side next month, and to keep them there all the summer, and I want your help to find a nice place. I know nothing of the English coast. More than this: I feel I could not get on without you, so you must come with us. Suppose, dear Miss Payne, we take a house with a garden near the sea, and you let this one? I will gladly pay all extra cost, while our original agreement, as far as I myself am concerned, shall hold good."