Mrs. Needham was a very important at personage in her own estimation, and very popular with a large circle of acquaintances. Most of them thought she was a widow, and only a few old friends were aware that away in a distant colony Needham masculine was hiding his diminished head from creditors of various kinds and penalties of many descriptions, not in penitence, but with as much of enjoyment as could be extracted from the simple materials of antipodean life. Having taken with him all the cash he could lay hands upon, his deserted wife was left to do battle alone on a small income which was her own, and fortunately secured to her on her marriage.
She was much too energetic to sit still when she might work and earn money. The editor of a provincial paper, a friend of early days, gave her space in his columns for a weekly letter, and an introduction to a Londonconfrere. On this slender foundation she built her humble fortunes. There were, in truth, few happier women in London. Brimful of interest in all the undertakings (and their name was legion) in which she was concerned, kind and unselfish, though quite free from sentiment, her life was full of movement and color. She had an enormous capacity for absorbing the marvellous, quite uninfluenced by the natural shrewdness with which she acted in all ordinary matters. In a bright surface way she was clever and full of ideas—ideas which others took up and fructified—from which Mrs. Needham herself derived no benefit beyond the pleasure of imparting them. She was constantly taken in by barefaced impostors, yet at times, and in an accidental way, hit on wonderfully accurate estimates of persons whom the general public credited with widely different qualities.
She had a nice little old-fashioned house in Kensington, with a pretty garden, just large enough to allow of visitors being well wet in rainy weather between the garden gate and the hall door. This diminutive mansion was crammed with curios, specimens of china, of carved wood, of Japanese lacquer—these much rarer than at present. It was a pleasant abode withal; a kindly, generous, happy-go-lucky spirit pervaded it. Few coming to seek help there were sent empty away, and the owner's earnest consideration was ready for all who sought her advice. It was real joy to her to entertain her friends in an easy, unceremonious way, and her friends were equally pleased to accept her hospitality.
On the present occasion Mrs. Needham was deeply interested in her expected guests. Katherine Liddell had pleased her from the first, practical and unsentimental as she was. She was disposed to weave a little romance round the bright sympathetic girl, who listened so graciously to her schemes and projects, whose brightness had under it a strain of tender sadness, which gave an indescribable subtle charm to her manner. Miss Payne she had known more or less for a considerable time, and regarded as a worthy, useful woman; while her third guest was the only child of the wealthy publisher George Bradley, the owner of that new and flourishing publication,The Piccadilly Review, wherein those brilliant articles on "Our Colonial System," "Modern European Politics," etc., supposed to be from the pen of Miles Errington, appeared.
"Apartie carreeof ladies does not seem to promise much," said Mrs. Needham, when she had greeted Miss Payne and "her young friend," into which position Katherine had sunk; "but unless I could have three or four men it is better to have none; besides we want to talk of business, and men under such circumstances always exclude us, so I don't see why we should admit them. Miss Bradley—Miss Payne, Miss Liddell, of whom you have heard me speak."
Miss Bradley rose from the sofa, where she was half reclining beside a bright wood fire, a tall stately figure in a long pale blue plush dress, cut low in front, and tied loosely with a knot of blue satin ribbon, nestling among the rich yellow white lace which fell from the edge of the bodice. She was extremely fair, even colorless, with abundant but somewhat sandy hair. Her features were regular and marked, a well-shaped head was gracefully set on a firm white column-like throat, and her eyes were clear and cold when in repose, but darkened and lit up when speaking of whatever roused and interested her. Indeed, she looked strong and stern when silent.
"I am very pleased to meet you," she said, in a full, pleasant voice."I have often heard of you from Mrs. Needham, and I think you know a friend of mine—Mr. Errington."
"Yes; I know him," returned Katherine, feeling her face aflame.
"I have heard of you too," continued Miss Bradley, addressing Miss Payne, "from several mutual friends, though we have never happened to meet before. I think you had just left Rome with Miss Jennings when I arrived there some four years ago."
"I had; and remember you were expected there."
"Miss Jennings married a relation of mine, and I see her very often, at least often for London. She really looks younger, if possible, than formerly," etc., etc., and their talk flowed in the Jennings channel for a few minutes.
Meantime Mrs. Needham, passing her arm through Katherine's, led her away to a very diminutive back room, draped and carpeted with Oriental stuffs, then beginning to be the fashion, and crammed with all imaginable ornaments and specimens, from bits of rare "Capo di monti" to funny sixpenny toys. "I have just found such a treasure," she exclaimed; "a real saucer of old Chelsea, and only a small bit out of this side. Isn't Angela Bradley handsome? She is a very remarkable girl, or perhaps I ought to say woman. She speaks four or five languages, and plays divinely; then she is a capital critic. It was she who advised her father to publish that very singular book,The Gorgon's Head; every publisher in London had refused it. He took it, and has cleared—oh, I'd be afraid to say how much money by it."
"I hope the writer got a fair share," said Katherine, smiling.
"Hum! ah, that's another matter; but I dare say Bradley will treat him quite as fairly as any one else. She will have a big fortune one of these days. Her father perfectly adores her."
"I wish I could write," said Katherine, with a sigh. "It must be a charming way to earn money."
"Why don't you try? You seem to me to have plenty of brains; and I suppose you will have to do something. I was so sorry—" Mrs. Needham was beginning, when dinner was announced, and her sympathetic utterances were cut short.
The repast was admirable, erring perhaps on the side of plenteousness, and well served by two smart young women in black, with pink ribbons in their caps. Nor was there any lack of bright talk a good deal beyond the average. Miss Bradley was an admirable listener, and often by well-put questions or suggestions kept the ball rolling. Dinner was soon over, and coffee was served in the drawing-room.
"Now, Miss Payne, I should like to consult with you," said Miss Bradley, putting her cup on the mantel-piece, and resuming her seat on the sofa, where she invited Miss Payne by a gesture to sit beside her, "about the daughter of an old friend of mine, who does not want her to join him in India, as she is rather delicate, and he cannot retire for a couple of years. It is time she left school, and the question is, where shall she go?"
While Miss Bradley thus attacked the subject uppermost in her mind, Mrs. Needham settled herself in an arm-chair as far as she could from the speakers, and asked Katherine to sit down beside her.
"Let them discuss their business without us," she said, "and I want to talk to you. Here, these are some rather interesting photographs. They are all actors or singers on this side; you'll observe the shape of the heads, the contour generally; these are politicians, and have quite a different aspect. Remarkable, isn't it? But I was just saying when we went down to dinner that I was awfully sorry to hear of all your troubles—of course we must not regret that the man is alive; though if he is a cross-grained creature, as he seems to be, life won't be much good to him—and I shall be greatly interested if you care to tell me what your plans are."
"I really have none. There are several things I could do pretty well. I could teach music and languages, but it is so difficult to find pupils. Then I am still in great uncertainty as to what my cousin may do."
"He is a greedy savage," said Mrs. Needham, emphatically; "but he will not dare to demand the arrears. He would raise a howl of execration by such conduct. Now, as you have nothing settled, and if Angela Bradley and Miss Payne make it up, you will have to leave where you are. Suppose you come to me?"
"To you? My dear Mrs. Needham, it would be delightful."
"Would it? It is not a very magnificent appointment, I assure you. You see, I have so much to do that I reallymusthave help. I had a girl for three or four months. I gave her twenty-five pounds a year, and thought she would be a great comfort, but she made a mess of my room and my papers, and could not write a decent letter; besides, she was discontented, so she left me, and I have been in a horrid muddle for the last fortnight. Now if you like to come to me, while you are looking out for something better, I am sure I shall be charmed, and will do all I can to push you. It's a miserable sort of engagement, but there it is; only I'll want you to come as soon as you can, for there are heaps to do."
"Indeed I am delighted to be your help, or secretary, or whatever you choose to call me, and as for looking for something better, if I can only save enough to provide for the boys, I would rather work with you for twenty-five pounds a year than any one else for—"
"For five hundred?" put in Mrs. Needham, with an indulgent smile, as she paused.
"No, no. Five hundred a year is not to be lightly rejected," returned Katherine, laughing. "But as I greatly doubt that I could ever be worth five hundred a year to any one, I gladly accept twenty-five."
"Remember, I do not expect you to stay an hour after you find something better. Now do me tell how matters stand with you."
Katherine therefore unbosomed herself, and among other things told how well and faithfully Rachel Trant had behaved toward her, of the fatherly kindness shown her by her old lawyer, and wound up by declaring that the world could not be so bad a place as it is reckoned, seeing that in her reverse of fortune she had found so much consideration. "Of course," she concluded, "there are heaps of people who, once I drop from the ranks of those who can enjoy and spend, will forget my existence; but I have no right to expect more. They only want playfellows, not friends, and ask no more than they give."
"Quite true, my young philosopher. Tell me, can you come on Saturday—come to stay?"
"I fear not. Besides I have a superstition about entering on a new abode on Saturday. Don't laugh! But I will come to-morrow, if you like, and write and copy for you. I will come each day till Monday next, and so help you to clear up."
"That is a good child! I wish I could make it worth your while to stay; but we don't know what silver lining is behind the dark clouds of the present."
Katherine shook her head. Mrs. Needham's suggestion showed her that peace and a relieved conscience was the highest degree of silvery brightness she anticipated in the future. One thing alone could restore to her the joyousness of her early days, and that was far away out of her reach.
"Mr. Errington and Mr. Payne," said one of the smart servants, throwing open the door.
"Ah, yes! Mr. Errington,ofcourse," exclaimed Mrs. Needham, under her breath. "I might have expected him. And you too, Mr. Payne?" she added aloud. "Very glad to see you both."
As soon as they had paid their respects to the hostess, Errington spoke to Katherine, while Payne remained talking with Mrs. Needham.
"I am glad to see you looking better than when we last spoke together," said Errington, pausing beside Katherine's chair. "Have you had any communication from Newton yet?"
"I have heard nothing from him, and feel very anxious to know George Liddell's decision. I had a note from Mrs. Ormonde, written in a much more friendly spirit than I had expected, but still in despair. She, with the Colonel, had been to demand explanations from Mr. Newton, and do not seem much cheered by the interview."
"No doubt the appearance of your cousin was a tremendous blow, but they have no right to complain."
"However that may be, I will not quarrel with the boys' mother, in spite of her unkindness. I fear so much to create any barrier between us."
"Those children are very dear to you," said Errington, looking down on her with a soft expression and lingering glance.
"They are. I don't suppose you could understand how dear."
"Why? Do you think me incapable of human affection?" asked Errington, smiling.
"No, certainly not; only I imagine justice is more natural to you than love, though you can be generous, as I know."
Errington did not answer. He stood still, as if some new train of thought had been suddenly suggested to him, and Katherine waited serenely for his next words, when Miss Bradley, who had not interrupted her conversation, or noticed the new-comers in any way, suddenly turned her face toward them, and said, with something like command, "Mr. Errington!"
Errington immediately obeyed. Katherine watched them speaking together for some minutes with a curious sense of discomfort and dissatisfaction. Miss Bradley's face looked softer and brighter, and a sort of animation came into her gestures, slight and dignifiedthough they were. They seemed to have much to say, and said it with a certain amount of well-bred familiarity. Yes, they were evidently friends; very naturally. How happy she was to be thus free from any painful consciousness in his presence! She was as stainless as himself, could look fearlessly in his eyes and assert herself, while she (Katherine) could only crouch in profoundest humility, and gratefully gather what crumbs of kindness and notice he let fall for her benefit. It was quite pitiable to be easily disturbed by such insignificant circumstances. How pitiably weak she was! So, with an effort, she turned her attention to Mrs. Needham and Bertie, who had slipped into an argument, as they often did, respecting the best and most effective method of dealing with the poor. In this Katherine joined with somewhat languid interest, quite aware that Errington and Miss Bradley grew more and more absorbed in their conversation, till Miss Payne, feeling herselfde trop, left her place to speak with Mrs. Needham, while Katherine and Bertie gradually dropped into silence.
"Miss Bradley's carriage," was soon announced, and she rose tall and stately, nearly as tall as Errington.
"Will you excuse me for running away so soon, dear Mrs. Needham?" she said, "but I promised Mrs. Julian Starner to go to her musical party to-night. I am to play the opening piece of the second part, so I dare not stay longer. You are going?"—to Errington, who bowed assent. "Then I can give you a seat in my brougham," she continued, with calm, assured serenity.
"Thank you," and Errington, turning to Katherine, said quickly: "Will you let me know when you hear from Newton? I am most anxious as regards Liddell's decision."
"I will, certainly. Good-night." She put her hand into his, and felt in some occult manner comfort by the gentle pressure with which he held it for half a moment. Yes, beaten, defeated, punished as she was, he felt for her with a noble compassion. Ought not that to be enough?
"Good-night, Miss Liddell. I hope you will come and see me. I am always at home on Tuesday afternoons; and Miss Payne, when I have seen the grandmother of the girl we have been speaking about, I will let you know, and you will kindly take into consideration the points I mentioned. Good-night." And she swept away, leaning on Errington's arm.
"Now that we are by ourselves," said Mrs. Needham, comfortably, "I must tell you what I have been proposing to Miss Liddell. I should like you to know all about it," and she plunged into the subject. "I know it is but a poor offer," she concluded; "but for the present it is better than nothing, and she can be on the lookout for something else."
Bertie wisely held his tongue. Katherine declared herself ready and willing to accept the offer, and Miss Payne, with resolute candor, declared that the remuneration was miserable, but that it was as well to be doing something while waiting for a better appointment.
Poor Katherine was terribly distressed by this frankness, but Mrs. Needham was quite unmoved. She said she saw the force ofwhat Miss Payne said, but there it was, and it remained with Miss Liddell to take or leave what she suggested.
Then Miss Payne's prospects came under discussion, and the doubtful circumstances connected with Miss Bradley's proposition.
"Now it is long past ten o'clock, and we must say good-night," remarked Miss Payne. "Really, Mrs. Needham, you are a wonderful woman! You have nearly 'placed' us both. How earnestly I hope there are better and brighter days before my young friend, whom I shall miss very much!"
"That I am quite sure. Well, she can go and see you as often as you like. Now tell me, isn't Angela Bradley a splendid creature?"
"She is indeed," murmured Katherine.
"Well, there is a good deal of her," said Miss Payne, with a sniff.
"Not too much for Mr. Errington, I think," exclaimed Mrs. Needham with a knowing smile. "I fancy that will be a match before the season is over. It will be a capital thing for Errington. Old Bradley isim-mensely rich, and I am sure Errington is far gone. Well, good-night, my dear Miss Payne. I am so glad to think I shall have Miss Liddell for a little while, at all events. You will come the day after to-morrow at ten, won't you, and help me to regulate some of my papers? Good-night, my dear, good-night."
Mr. Newton came into his office the afternoon the day following Mrs. Needham's little dinner. His step was alert and his head erect, as though he was satisfied with himself and the world. A boy who sat in a box near the door, to make a note of the flies walking into the spider's parlor, darted out, saying, "Please sir, Miss Liddell is waiting for you."
"Is she? Very well." And the old lawyer went quickly along the passage leading to the other rooms, and opening the door of his own, found Katherine sitting by the table, a newspaper, which had evidently dropped from her hand, lying by her on the carpet. She started up to meet her good friend, who was struck by her pallor and the sad look in her eyes.
"Well, this is lucky!" exclaimed Newton, shaking hands with her cordially. "I was going to write to you, as I wanted to see you, and here you are."
"I was just beginning to fear I might be troublesome, but I have been so anxious."
"Of course you have. And you have been very patient, on the whole. Well"—laying aside his hat, and rubbing his hands as he sat down—"I have just come from consulting with Messrs. Compton, and I am very happy to tell you it is agreed that George Liddell shall withdraw his claim to the arrears of income, but not to the savings you have effected since your succession to the property, also the balance standing to your name at your banker's is not to be interfered with; so I think things are arranging themselves more favorably, on the whole, than I could have hoped."
"They are, indeed," cried Katherine, clasping her hands together in thankfulness. "What an immense relief! I have more than three hundred pounds in the bank, and I have found employment for the present at least, so I can use my little income for the boys. Howcan I thank you, dear Mr. Newton, for all the trouble you have taken for me?" And she took his hard, wrinkled hand, pressing it between both hers, and looking with sweet loving eyes into his.
"I am sure I was quite ready to take any trouble for you, my dear young lady; but in this matter Mr. Errington has done most of the work. He has gained a surprising degree of influence over your cousin, who is a very curious customer; but for him (Mr. Errington, I mean), I fear he would have insisted on his full rights, which would have been a bad business. However, that is over now. Nor will Mr. Liddell fare badly. Your savings have added close on three thousand pounds to the property which falls to him. I am surprised that he did not try at once to make friends with you, for his little girl's sake. I hear he is in treaty for a grand mansion in one of the new streets they are building over at South Kensington. He is tremendously fond of this little girl of his. It seems Liddell was awfully cut up at the death of his wife, about a year and a half ago. He fancies that if he had known of his father's death and his own succession he would have come home, and the voyage would have saved her life. This, I rather think, was at the root of his rancor against you."
"How unjust! how unreasonable!" cried Katherine. "Now tell me of your interview with Mrs. Ormonde and her husband."
"Well—ah—it was not a very agreeable half-hour. I have seldom seen so barefaced an exhibition of selfishness. However, I think I brought them to their senses, certainly Mrs. Ormonde, and I am determined to make that fellow Ormonde pay something toward the education of his wife's sons."
"I would rather not have it," said Katherine.
"Nonsense," cried the lawyer, sharply. "You or they are entitled to it, and you shall have it. Mrs. Ormonde evidently does not want to quarrel with you, nor is it well for the boys' sake to be at loggerheads with their mother."
"No, certainly not; but, Mr. Newton, I can never be the same to her again. I never can forgive her or her husband's ingratitude and want of feeling."
"Of course not, and they know you will not; still, an open split is to be avoided. Now, tell me, what is the employment you mentioned?"
Katherine told him, and a long confidential conversation ensued, wherein she explained her views and intentions, and listened to her old friend's good advice. Certain communication to Mrs. Ormonde were decided on, as Katherine agreed with Mr. Newton that she should have no further personal intercourse concerning business matters with her sister-in-law.
"By-the-way," said Newton, "one of the events of the last few days was a visit from your protegee, Miss Trant. I was a good deal struck with her. She is a pretty, delicate-looking girl, yet she's as hard as nails, and a first-rate woman of business. She seems determined to make your fortune, for that is just the human touch about her that interested me. She doesn't talk about it, but her profound gratitude to you is evidently her ruling motive. I am so persuaded that she will develop a good business, and that you will ultimatelyget a high percentage for the money you have advanced—or, as you thought, almost given—that I am going to trust her with a little of mine, just to keep the concern free of debt till it is safely floated."
"How very good of you!" cried Katherine. "And what a proof of your faith in my friend! How can you call her hard? To me she is most sympathetic."
"Ay, to you. Then you see she seems to have devoted herself to you. To me she turned a very hard bit of her shell. No matter. I think she is the sort of woman to succeed. You have not seen her since—since her visit to me?"
"No. I have not been to see her because—not because I was busy, but idle and depressed. I will not be so any more. So many friends have been true and helpful to me that I should be ashamed of feeling depressed. I will endeavor to prove myself a first-rate secretary, and be a credit to you, my dear good friend."
"That you will always be, I'm sure," returned Newton, warmly.
"Now you must run away, my dear young lady, for I have fifty things to do. Your friend Miss Trant will tell you all that passed between us, and what her plans are."
"I am going to pay her a visit this evening. I do not like to trouble her either in the morning or afternoon, she is so busy. But I always enjoy a talk with her. She is really very well informed, and rather original."
"I believe she will turn out well. Good-by, my dear Miss Liddell. I assure you, you are not more relieved by the result of the morning's consultation than I am."
The beginning of a new life is rarely agreeable, and when the newness consists of poverty in place of riches, of service instead of complete freedom, occupations not particularly congenial instead of the exercise of unfettered choice, in such matters—why, the contrast is rather trying.
A fortnight after the interview just described, Katherine was thoroughly settled with Mrs. Needham.
Although she justly considered herself most fortunate in finding a home so easily, with so pleasant and kindly a patroness, she would have been more or less than human had she not felt the change which had befallen her. Mrs. Ormonde's conduct, too, had wounded her, more than it ought, perhaps, for she always knew her sister-in-law to be shallow and selfish, but not to the degree which she had lately betrayed.
Her constant prayer was that she should be spared the torture of having to give up her dear boys to such a mother and such a step-father. She thought she saw little, loving, delicate Charlie shrinking into himself, and withering under the contemptuous indifference neglect of the Castleford household; and Cis—bolder andstronger—hardening into defiance or deceit under the same influence.
By the sort of agreement arrived at between Mr. Newton and Mrs. Ormonde, it was decided that so long as Katherine provided for the maintenance of her nephews, their mother was only entitled to have them with her during the Christmas holidays; and Colonel Ormonde was with some difficulty persuaded to allow the munificent sum of thirty pounds a year toward the education of his step-sons.
This definite settlement was a great relief to Katherine's heart. How earnestly she resolved to keep herself on her infinitesimal stipend, and save every other penny for her boys! Of the trouble before her, in removing them from Sandbourne to some inferior, because cheaper, school, she would not think. Sufficient to the day was the evil thereof.
She therefore applied herself diligently to her duties. These were varied, though somewhat mechanical.
Mrs. Needham's particular den was a very comfortable, well-furnished room at the back of the house, crowded with books and newspapers, and prospectuses, magazines, and all possible impedimenta of journalism, on the outer edge of which women were beginning with faltering footsteps tentatively to tread. Mrs. Needham not only wrote "provincial letters" (with a difference!), but contributed social and statistical papers to several of the leading periodicals; and one of Katherine's duties was to write out her rough notes, and make extracts from the books, Blue and others, the reports and papers which Mrs. Needham had marked. Then there were lots of letters to be answered and MSS. to be corrected.
Besides these, Mrs. Needham asked Katherine as a favor to help her in her house-keeping, as it was a thing she hated; "and whatever you do," was her concluding instructions, "do not see too much of cook's doings. She is a clever woman, and after all that can be said about the feast of reason, the success of my little dinners depends onher. I don't think she takes things, but she is a little reckless, and I never could keep accounts."
Katherine therefore found her time fully filled. This, however, kept her from thinking too much, and her kind chief was pleased with all she did. Her mind was tolerable at rest about the boys, her friends stuck gallantly to her through the shipwreck of her fortune, and yet her heart was heavy. She could not look forward with hope, or back without pain. She dared not even let herself think freely, for she well knew the cause of her depression, and had vowed to herself to master it, to hide it away, and never allow her mental vision to dwell upon it. Work, and interest—enforced, almost feverish interest—in outside matters, were the only weapons with which she could fight the gnawing, aching pain of ceaseless regret that wore her heart. How insignificant is the loss of fortune, and all that fortune brings, compared to the opening of an impassable gulf between one's self and what has grown dearer than self, by that magic, inexplicable force of attraction which can rarely be resisted or explained!
Life with Mrs. Needham was very active, and although Katherine was necessarily left a good deal at home, she saw quite enough ofsociety in the evening to satisfy her. The all-accomplished Angela Bradley showed a decided inclination to fraternize with Mrs. Needham's attractive secretary, but for some occult reason Katherine did not respond. She fancied that Miss Bradley was disposed to look down with too palpably condescending indulgence from the heights of her own calm perfections on those storms in a teacup amid which Mrs. Needham agitated, with such sincere belief in her own powers to raise or to allay them. Yet Miss Bradley was a really high-minded woman, only a little too well aware of her own superiority. She was always a favored guest at the "Shrubberies," as Mrs. Needham's house was called, and of course an attraction to Errington, who was also a frequent visitor. The evenings, when some of thehabituesdropped in on their way to parties, or returning from the theatre (Mrs. Needham never wanted to go to bed!), were bright and amusing. Moreover, Katherine had complete liberty of movement. If Mrs. Needham were going out without her secretary, Katherine was quite free to spend the time with Miss Payne, or with Rachel Trant, whom she found more interesting. At the house of the former she generally found Bertie ready to escort her home, always kindly and deeply concerned about her, but more than ever determined to convert her from her uncertain faith and worldly tendencies, to Evangelicalism and contempt for the joys of this life.
Already the days of her heirship seemed to have been wafted away far back, and the routine of the present was becoming familiar. There was nothing oppressive in it. Yet she could not look forward. Hope had long been a stranger to her. Never, since her mother's death, since she had fully realized the bearings of her own reprehensible act, had she known the joy of a light heart. Some such ideas were flitting through her mind as she was diligently copying Mrs. Needham's lucubrations one afternoon, when the parlor maid opened the door and said, as she handed her a card, "The lady is in the drawing-room, ma'am."
The lady was Mrs. Ormonde.
"Is Mrs. Needham at home?"
"No, ma'am."
It was rather a trial, this, meeting with Ada, but Katherine could not shirk it. She did not want to have any quarrel with the boys' mother, so she ascended to the drawing-room.
There stood the pretty, smartly dressed little woman, all airy elegance, but the usually smiling lips were compressed, and the smooth white brow was wrinkled with a frown. She was examining a book of photographs—most of them signed by the donors.
"Oh, Katherine! how do you do?" she said, sharply, and not in the least abashed by any memory of their last meeting. "I am up in town for a few days, and I couldn't leave without seeing you. You see I have too much feeling to turnmyback on an old friend, however injured I may be by circumstances over which you had no control. You are not looking well, Katie; you are so white, and your eyes don't seem to be half open."
"I am quite well, I assure you," said Katherine, composedly, and avoiding a half-offered kiss by drawing a chair forward for her visitor.
"I wish I could say as much," returned Mrs. Ormonde, with a deep sigh, throwing herself into it. "I am perfectly wretched; Ormonde is quite intolerable at times since everything has collapsed. I am sure I often wish you had never done anything for the boys or me, and then we should never have fancied ourselves rich. Of course I don't blame you; you meant well, but it is all very unfortunate."
"It is indeed; but is it possible that Colonel Ormonde is so unmanly as to—"
"Unmanly?" interrupted his wife. "Manly, you mean. Of course he revenges himself on me. Not always. He is all right sometimes; but if anything goes wrong, then I suffer. Fortunately I was prudent, and made little savings, with which I am—but"—interrupting herself—"that is not worth speaking about."
"I am sorry you are unhappy, Ada," said Katherine, with her ready sympathy.
"Oh, don't think I allow myself to be trodden on," cried Mrs. Ormonde, her eyes suddenly lighting up. "It was a hard fight at first, but I saw it was a struggle for life; and when we knew the worst, and Ormonde raved and roared, I said I should leave him and take baby (I could, you know, till he was seven years old), and that the servants would swear I was in fear of my life; and I should have done it, and carried my case, too! I'm not sure it would not have been better for me. But he gave in, and asked me to stay. I felt pretty safe then. Now, when he is disagreeable, I burst into tears at dinner, and upset my glass of claret on the table-cloth, and totter out of the room weak and tremulous. I can see the butler and James ready to tear him to pieces. When he is good-humored, so am I; and when he tries to bully, why, what with trembling so much that I break something he likes, and fits of hysterics, and being awfully frightened before strangers, and making things go wrong when he wishes to create a great effect on some one, I think he begins to see it is better not to quarrel with me. Still, it is awfully miserable, compared with what it used to be when I really thought he loved me. How pleasant we all were together at Castleford before this horrid man turned up! Why didn't that awkward bush-ranger take better aim?"
"I dare say George Liddell is not quite of your opinion," said Katherine, smiling at her sister-in-law's candor.
"He was quite rich before," continued Mrs. Ormonde, querulously. "Why couldn't he be satisfied to stay out there and spend his own money? I hate selfishness and greed!"
"Theyareodious in every one," said Katherine, gravely.
"Now that I feel satisfied you are well and happy," resumed Mrs. Ormonde, who had never put a single question respecting herself to Katherine, "there are one or two things I wanted to ask you. Where are the boys?"
"They are still at Sandbourne; but they leave, I am sorry to say, at Easter."
"Oh, they do! It is an awfully expensive school. Are you quite sure, Katherine, they will not send in the bill to me?"
"Quite sure, Ada, for I have paid in advance."
"That was really very thoughtful, dear. Then—excuse my asking; I would not interfere with you for the world—but whatareyou going to do with them in the Easter holidays? Idarenot have them at Castleford. I should lose all the ground I have gained if such a thing was even hinted to the Colonel."
"Why apologize for inquiring about your own children? Do not be alarmed, they shallnotgo. I am just now arranging for them to go to a school at Wandsworth, and for the Easter holidays Miss Payne has most kindly invited them."
"Really! How very nice! I will send her a hamper from Castleford. I can manage that much. This is rather a nice little place," continued Mrs. Ormonde, evidently much relieved and looking round. "What lots of pretty things! Is Mrs. Needham nice? She seemed rather a flashy woman. You must feel it an awful change from being an heiress, and so much made of, to being a sort of upper servant! Do you dine with Mrs. Needham?"
"Yes, I really do, and go out to evening parties with her."
"No, really?"
"It is a fact. She is a kind, delightful woman to live with. I am most fortunate."
"Fortunate? You cannot say that, Katie! You are the most unfortunate girl in the world. You know how penniless women are looked upon in society.Iremember when Ormonde thought himself such a weak idiot for being attracted to me, all because I had no money. It makes such a difference! Why, there is Lord De Burgh; I met him yesterday, and asked him to have a cup of tea with me, and he never once mentioned your name."
"Why should he? I never knew Lord De Burgh," said Katherine.
"Yes, you did, dear! Why, you cannot know what is going on if you have not heard that old De Burgh died nearly a fortnight ago in Paris, and our friend has come in foreverything. He had just returned from the funeral, so he said, and is looking darker and glummer than ever. Well, you know how he used to run after you. I assure you he never made a single inquiry about you. Heartless, wasn't it? I said something about that horrid man coming back, and—would you believe it?—he laughed in that odious, cynical way he has, and called me a little tigress. The only sympathetic word he spoke was to call it an infernal business. He doesn't care what he says, you know. Then he asked if Ormonde was tearing his hair about it. What a pity you did not encourage him, Katie, and marry him! Once you were his wife he could not have thrown you off. Now I don't suppose you'll ever seehimagain. I rather think Mrs. Needham does not know many ofhisset."
"She knows an extraordinary number of people—all sorts and conditions of men; Mr. Errington often dines here."
"Does he? But then he is a sort of literary hack now. Just think what a change both for you and him!"
"It is very extraordinary; but he keeps his position better than I do."
"Of course. Men are always better off. Now, dear, I must go. I am quite glad to have seen you, and sorry to think that my husband is absurdly prejudiced against you from the way you spoke to him last time. It was by no means prudent."
"Well, Ada, should Colonel Ormonde so far overcome his objection to me as to seek me again, I think it very likely I may say more imprudent things than I did last time. Pray, what do I owe him that I should measure my words?"
"Really, Katherine, when you hold your head up in that way I feel half afraid of you. There is no use trying to hold your own with the world when your pocket is empty. You see nobody troubles about you now, whereas—"
"Miss Bradley!" announced the servant; and Angela entered, in an exquisite walking dress of dark blue velvet; bonnet and feathers, gloves, parasol, all to match. Mrs. Ormonde gazed in delighted admiration at this splendid apparition.
"My dear Miss Liddell!" she exclaimed, shaking hands cordially. "I have rushed over to tell you that we have secured a box for Patti's benefit on Thursday, and I want you to join us. I know Mrs. Needham has a stall, but she will sup with us after. Mr. Errington and one or two musical critics are coming to dine with me at half past six, and we can go together."
"You are very good," said Katherine, coloring. She did not particularly care to go with Miss Bradley, and she was amused at Mrs. Ormonde's expression of astonishment. "Of course I shall be most happy."
"Now I must not stay; I have heaps to do. Will you be so kind as to give me the address of the modiste you mentioned the other day who made that pretty gray dress of yours? Madame Maradan is so full she cannot do a couple of morning dresses for me, so I want to try your woman."
"I shall be so glad if you will," cried Katherine. "I will bring you one of her cards. Let me introduce my sister-in-law to you. Mrs. Ormonde, Miss Bradley." She left the room, and Miss Bradley drew a chair beside her. "I think I had the pleasure of seeing you at Lady Carton's garden party last July?" she said, courteously.
"Oh, dear me, yes! I thought I knew your face. Lady Carton introduced you to me. Lady Carton is a cousin of Colonel Ormonde's."
"Oh, indeed! Miss Liddell was not there?"
"No; she chose to bury herself by the sea-side for the whole season."
Here Katherine returned with the card.
"I am so glad you are going to give my friend Rachel Trant a trial. I am sure you will like her. She has excellent taste."
"Now I must not wait any longer. So good-by. Shall you be at Madame Caravicelli's this evening?"
"I am not sure. I don't feel much disposed to go."
"Good-by for the present, then. Good-morning," to Mrs. Ormonde, and Miss Bradley swept out of the room.
"Well, Katherine!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, when her sister-in-law returned, "you seem to have fallen on your feet here. Pray who is that fine, elegant girl who seems so fond of you?"
"She is the daughter of a wealthy publisher, and has been very kind to me."
"Ah, yes! I remember now, Lady Carton said she would have a large fortune; and so she is your intimate friend?"
"Well, a very kind friend."
"Now I must bid you good-by. I am sure I am very glad you are so comfortable. I am going back to Castleford to-morrow, or I should call again. You are going to be Lucky Katherine, after all; I am sure you are;" and with many sweet words she disappeared.
"Lucky," repeated Katherine, as she returned to her task, "mine has been strange luck."
Despite Mrs. Ormonde's assurances that De Burgh had quite forgotten her, the news that he was once more in town disturbed Katherine. Unless some new fancy had driven her out of his head, she felt sure that his first step in the new and independent existence on which he had entered would be to seek her out and renew the offer he had twice made before. Money or no money, position, circumstances, all were but a feather-weight compared to the imperative necessity of having his own way.
It would be very painful to be obliged to refuse him again, for, in spite of her grave disapprobation of him in many ways, she liked him, and had a certain degree of confidence in him. There were the possibilities of a good character even in his faults, and it grieved her to be obliged to pain him.
"After all, I may be troubling myself about a vain image; it is more than a month since I saw him. He is now a wealthy peer, and it is impossible to say how circumstances may have changed him."
When Mrs. Needham had dressed for the dinner which was to precede Madam Caravicelli's reception, Katherine put on her bonnet and cloak and set off to spend a couple of hours with Rachel Trant, not only to avoid a lonely evening, but to change the current of her thoughts—loneliness and thought being her greatest enemies at present.
She had grown quite accustomed to make her way by omnibus, and as the days grew longer and the weather finer, she hoped to be able to walk across Campden Hill, not only shortening the distance but saving the fare. A visit to Rachel amused Katherine and drew her out of herself more than anything; the details of the business and management of property which she felt was her own had a large amount of interest—real, living interest. The state of the books, the increase of custom, the addition to the small capital which Rachel was gradually accumulating—all these were subjects not easily exhausted. Both partners agreed that their great object, now that the undertaking was beginning to maintain itself, was to lay by all they could, for of course bad debts and bad times would come.
"It is a great satisfaction to think that though people may do without books or pictures or music, they must wear clothes; and if you fit well, and are punctual, you are certain to have customers. Of course if you give credit you must charge high; people are beginning to see that now. You cannot get ready money in the dressmaking trade except for those costumes you give for a certain fixed price; but I stand out for quarterly accounts."
"And do you find no difficulty in getting them paid?"
"Not much; you see, I deduct five per cent. for punctual payment. Every one tries to save that five per cent. But talking of these things has put a curious incident out of my head, which I was longing to tell you. You remember among my first customers were Mrs. Fairchild and her daughters. They keep a very high class ladies' school in Inverness Terrace, and have been excellent customers. Yesterday Miss Fairchild called and said that she wanted an entire outfit for a little girl of ten or eleven, who was to be with them. They did not wish for anything fine or showy; at the same time, cost was no object. I was to furnish everything, to save time. This morning they brought the child to be fitted; she is very tall and thin, but lithe and supple, with dark hair, and large, bright, dark-brown eyes. She will be very handsome. I could not quite make her out; she is not an ordinary gentlewoman, nor is she the very least vulgar or common. She gives me more the idea of a wild thing not quite tamed. When all was settled I was told to address the account to Mr. George Liddell, Grosvenor Hotel."
"Why, it must be my cousin George!" cried Katherine. "How strange that in this huge town they should fix on you amongst the thousands of dressmakers! You must make my little cousin look very smart, Rachel."
"She is not little. She is wonderfully mature for ten years old, something like a panther."
"I should like to see her. I believe she is a great idol with her father. I wish," added Katherine, after a pause, "he were not so unreasonably prejudiced against me. You may think me weak, Rachel, but I have a sort of yearning for family ties."
"Why should I think you weak? It is a natural and I suppose a healthy feeling.Idon't understand it myself because I never had any. Isolation is my second nature. The only human being that ever treated me with tenderness and loyal friendship is yourself, and what you have been to me, what I feel toward you, none can know, for I can never tell."
"Dear Rachel! How glad I am to have been of use to you! And you amply repay me, you are looking so much better. Tell me, are you not feeling content and happy?"
Rachel smiled, a smile somewhat grim in spite of the soft lips it parted. "I am resigned, and I have found an object to live for, and you know what an improvement that is compared to the condition you found me in. But I don't think I am really any more in love with life now than I was then. However, I am more mistress of myself." She paused, and her face grew very grave as she leaned back in her chair, her arm and small hand, closely shut, resting on the table beside her.
"All the minute details, the thought and anxiety, my business, or rather our business, requires an enormous help—it is such a boon to be too weary at night-time to think! Butnoamount of work, of care, can quite shut out the light of other days. It is no doubt wrong, immoral, unworthy of a reformed outcast, butifmy realheart's desire could be fulfilled, I would live over again those few months of exquisite happiness, and die before waking to the terrible reality of my insignificance in the sight of him who was more than life to me—die while I was still something to be missed, to be regretted. He would have tired of me had I been his wife, and that would have been as terrible as my present lot—even more, for I must have seen his weariness day by day, and no amount of social esteem would have consoled me. As it is, my real self seems to have died, and this creature"—striking her breast—"was a cunningly contrived machine, that can work, and understand, but, save for one friend, cannot feel. I do not even look back tohimwith any regretful tenderness. I do not love him—that is dead. I do not hate him—I have no right. He did not deceive me; I voluntarily overstepped the line which separates the reputable and disreputable; as long as I was loved and cherished I never felt as if I had done wrong. I never felt humiliation when I was with him. When he grew tired of me he could not help it; he never did try to resist any whim or passion. But better, stronger men cannot hold the wavering will-o'-the-wisp they call 'love'; and once it flickers out, it cannot be relighted. No, I have no one to blame; I can only resign myself to the bitterest, cruelest fate that can befall a woman—to be loved and eagerly sought, won, and adored for a brief hour, then thrown carelessly aside—a mere plaything, unworthy of serious thought. Ah, I have forgotten my resolution not to talk of myself to you. It is a weakness; but your kind eyes melt my heart. Now I will close it up—I will think only of the task I have set myself, to make a little fortune for you, a reputation for my own establishment—not a very grand ambition, but it does to keep the machine going; and I am growing stronger every day, with a strange force that surprises myself. I fear nothing and no one. I think my affection for you, dear, is the only thing which keeps me human. Now tell me, are you still comfortable with Mrs. Needham?"
The tears stood in Katherine's eyes as she listened to this stern wail of a bruised spirit, but with instinctive wisdom she refrained from uttering fruitless expressions of sympathy. She would not encourage Rachel to dwell on the hateful subject; she only replied by pressing her friend's hand in silence, and she began to speak of Mrs. Ormonde's visit, and succeeded in making Rachel laugh at the little woman's description of the means she adopted of reducing Colonel Ormonde to reason.
"Real generosity and unselfishness is very rare," said Rachel. "The meanness and narrowness of men are amazing—and of women too; but somehow one expects more from the strength of a man."
"When men are good they are very good," said Kate, reflectively. "But the only two I have seen much of are not pleasant specimens—my uncle, John Liddell, and Colonel Ormonde. Then against them I must balance Bertie Payne, who is good enough for two."
"He is indeed! I owe him a debt I can never repay, for he brought you to me. I wish you could reward him as he would wish."
"I am not sure that he has any wishes on the subject," said Katherine, her color rising. "He thinks I am too ungodly to be eligible for the helpmeet of a true believer. Ah, indeed I am not half good enough for such a man!"
That Rachel Trant should have drifted into communication George Liddell seemed a most whimsical turn of the wheel of fortune to Katherine, and she thought much of it.
Would it lead to any reconciliation between herself and her strange, unreasonable, half-savage kinsman? She fancied she could interest herself in his daughter, and towards himself she felt no enmity; rather a mild description of curiosity. Why should they not be on friendly terms?
But this and other subjects of thought were swallowed up in the anticipated pain of removing her nephews from their school at Sandbourne, where they had been so happy and done so well. Miss Payne's friendly offer to take them in for a week or two had relieved Katherine of a difficulty; and Mrs. Needham was most considerate in promising to give her ample time to prepare them for their new school.
What a difference, poor Katherine thought, between the present and the past! quite as great as between the price of Sandbourne and Wandsworth. There was a certain rough and ready tone about the latter establishment which distressed her; yet the school-master's wife seemed a kindly, motherly woman, and the urchins she saw running about the playground looked ruddy and happy enough. It was the best of the cheaper schools she had seen, and to Dr. Paynter's care she resolved to commit them. As Wandsworth was within an easy distance, she could often go to see them.
Another matter kept her somewhat on thequi vive. In spite of Mrs. Ormonde's assurance that De Burgh had forgotten her, Katherine had a strong idea that she had not seen the last of him.
Though Mrs. Needham's wide circle of acquaintances included many men and women of rank, she knew nothing of the set to which De Burgh belonged. Those of his class, admitted within the hospitable gate of the Shrubberies, were usually persons of literary, artistic, or dramatic leanings and connections, of which he was quite innocent.
It was a day or two after Katherine's last interview with Rachel Trant, and Mrs. Needham was "at home" in a more formal way than usual. Katherine was assisting her chief in receiving, when, in the tea-room, she was accosted by Errington. "Have you had tea yourself?" he asked, with his grave, sweet smile.
"Oh yes! long ago."
"Then, Miss Liddell, indulge me in a little talk. It is so long since I have had a word with you! It seems that since we agreed to be fast friends, founding our friendship on the injuries we havedone each other, that we have drifted apart more than ever. Pray do not turn away with that distressed look. I am so unfortunate in being always associated with painful ideas in your mind."
"Indeed you are not. All the good of my present life I owe to you," and she raised her soft brown eyes, full of tender gratitude, to his. It was a glance that might have warmed any man's heart, and Errington's answer was:
"Come, then, and let us exchange confidences," the crowd round the door at that moment obliging him, as it seemed to her, to hold her arm very close to his side.
At the end of the hall, which was little more than a passage, was a door sheltered by a large porch. The door had been removed, and the porch turned into a charming nook, with draperies, plants, colored lamps, and comfortable seats. Here Errington and Katherine established themselves.
"First," he began, "tell me, how do you fare at Mrs. Needham's hands? I am glad to see that you seem quite at home; and if I may be allowed to say it, you bear up bravely under the buffets of unkindly fortune."
"I have no right to complain," returned Katherine. "As to Mrs. Needham, were I her younger sister she could not be kinder. I think the great advantage of the semi-Bohemian set to which she belongs, is that among them there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, for all are one in our common human nature. Were I to go down into the kitchen and cook the dinner, it would not put me at any disadvantage with my good friend. I should have only to wash my hands and don my best frock, and in the drawing-room I should be as much the daughter of the house as ever."
Errington laughed. There was a happy sound in his laugh. "You describe our kind hostess well. Such women are the salt of the social earth. And your 'dear boys.' How and where are they?"
"Ah! that is a trial. I go down to Sandbourne the day after to-morrow, to take them from that delightful school, and place them in a far different establishment."
"Ha! Does Mrs. Ormonde go with you?"
"Mrs. Ormonde? Oh no. You know—" she hesitated. "Well, you see, Colonel Ormonde is exceedingly indignant with me because I have lost my fortune, and I fancy he does not approve of Ada's having anything to do with me. Besides—" She paused, not liking to betray too much of the family politics. "They have agreed to give the boys over to me."
"I know. I paid Mr. Newton a long visit the other day, and he told me—perhaps more than you would like."
"I do not mind how much you know," said Katherine, sadly. "I am glad you care enough to inquire."
"I want you to understand that I care very, very much," replied Errington, in a low, earnest tone. "You and I have crossed each other's paths in an extraordinary manner, and if you will allow me, I should like to act a brother's part to you if—" He broke off abruptly, and Katherine, looking up to him with a bright smile, exclaimed, "I shall be delighted to have such a brother, and will not give you more trouble than I can help."
"Thank you." He seemed to hesitate a moment, and then, with a change of tone, observed: "You and Miss Bradley seem to have become intimate. You must find her an agreeable companion. I think she might be a useful friend."
"She is extremely kind. I cannot say how much obliged to her I am; but," continued Katherine, impelled by an unaccountable antagonism, "do you know, I cannot understand why she likes me. There is no real sympathy between us. She is so wise and learned. She never would do wrong things from a sudden irresistible impulse, and then devour her heart with, not repentance, exactly, but remorse which cannot be appeased."
"Probably not. She is rather a remarkable woman. Strong, yet not hard. I fancy we are the arbiters of our own fate."
"Oh no! no!" cried Katherine, with emotion. "Just think of the snares and pitfalls which beset us, and how hard it is to keep the narrow road when a heart-beat too much, a sudden rush of sorrow or of joy, and our balance is lost: even steady footsteps slide from the right way. Believe me, some never have a fair chance."
Errington made a slight movement nearer to her, and after a brief pause said, "I should like to hear you argue this with Angela Bradley."
It sounded strange and unpleasant to hear him say "Angela."
"I never argue with her," said Katherine. "Mine are but old-fashioned weapons, while hers are of the latest fashion and precision. Moreover, we stand on different levels, I am sorry to say. I wonder she troubles herself about me. Is it pure benevolence? or"—with a quick glance into his eyes, which were unusually animated—"did you ask her of her clemency to throw me some crumbs of comfort? If so, she has obeyed you gracefully and well."
"Unreason has a potent advocate in you, Miss Liddell," said Errington; smiling a softer smile than usual. "But I want you to understand and appreciate Miss Bradley. She is a fine creature in every sense of the word. As friend, I am sure she would be loyal with a reasonable loyalty, and I flatter myself she is a friend of mine."
"Another sister?" asked Katherine, forcing herself to smile playfully.
"Yes," returned Errington, slowly, looking down as he spoke; "a different kind of sister."
Katherine felt her cheeks, her throat, her ears, glow, as she listened to what she considered a distinct avowal of his engagement to the accomplished Angela, but she only said, softly and steadily, "I hope she will always be a dear and loyal sister to you."
There was a moment's silence. Then Errington said, abruptly, his eyes, as she felt, on her face, "Have you seen De Burgh since his return?"
"No."
"No doubt you will. What a curious fellow he is! I wonder how he will act, now that he has rank and fortune? He has some good points."
"Oh yes, many," cried Katherine, warmly, "I could not help liking him. He is very true."
"And extremely reckless," put in Errington, coldly, as Katherine paused to remember some other good point.
"Certainly not calculating," she returned.
"Probably his new responsibilities may steady him."
"They may. I almost wish I dare——"
"My dear Katherine, I have been looking everywhere for you. I want you so much to play Mrs. Grandison's accompaniment. She is going to sing one of your songs, and no one plays it as well as you do. So sorry to interrupt your nice talk; but what can a wretched hostess do?"
"Oh, I am quite ready, Mrs. Needham," said Katherine; and she rose obediently.
"Will you come, Mr. Errington?" asked the lady of the house.
"To hear Mrs. Grandison murder one of Miss Liddell's songs, which I dare say I have heard at Castleford? No, thank you. I shall bid you good-night. I am going on to Lady Barbara Bonsfield's, where I shall not stay long."
"Horrid woman! she robbed me of Angela Bradley to-night!" exclaimed Mrs. Needham.
With a quick "Good-night," Katherine went to fulfil her duties in the drawing-room, and did not see Errington again for several days.
"I was vexed with you for not singing last night," said Mrs. Needham, as she sat at luncheon with her young friend the next morning. "You may not have a great voice, but you are much more thoroughly trained than half the amateurs whose squallings and screechings are applauded to the echo."
"I do not know why, but I really did not feel that I could sing, Mrs. Needham. I do not often feel miserable and choky, but I did last night. I am so anxious and uneasy about the boys and the school they are going to, that I was afraid of making a fool of myself. When the change is accomplished I shall be all right again, and not bore you with my sentimentality."
"You don't do anything of the sort. You are a capital plucky girl. Now I have nothing particular for you to do this afternoon, and I can't take you with me; so just go out and call on Miss Bradley or Miss Payne to divert your——"
"A gentleman for Miss Liddell;" said the parlor maid, placing a card beside Katherine.
"Lord de Burgh!" she exclaimed, in great surprise.
"Lord who?" asked Mrs. Needham.
"Lord de Burgh; he is a relation of Colonel Ormonde; I used to meet him at Castleford."
Mrs. Needham eyed her curiously. "Oh, very well, dear," she said, with great cheerfulness. "Go and see him, and give him some tea; only it is too early. I am sorry I cannot put in an appearance, but I have just a hundred and one things to do before I go to Professor Maule's scientific 'afternoon' at four. Give me my bag and note-book. I must go straight away to the 'Incubator Company's Office;' I promised them a notice in my Salterton letter next week. There, go, child; I don't want you any more."
"But I am in no hurry, Mrs. Needham. Lord de Burgh is no very particular friend of mine."
"Well, well! That remains to be seen. Just smooth your hair, won't you? It's all rough where you have leaned on your hand over your writing. It's no matter? Well, it doesn't much. Do you think he has any votes for the British Benevolent Institution for Aged Women? I do so want to get my gardener's mother—There, go, go, dear! You had better not keep him waiting." And Katherine was gently propelled out of the room.
In truth, she was rather reluctant to face De Burgh, although she felt gratified and soothed by his taking the trouble to find her out.
Katherine found her visitor pacing up and down when she opened the drawing-room door, feeling vexed with herself for her changing color and the embarrassment she felt she displayed. De Burgh was looking taller and squarer than ever, but his dark face brightened so visibly as his eyes met Katherine's, that she felt a pang as she thought how unmoved she was herself.
"I thought you had escaped from sight!" he exclaimed, holding her hand for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. "The first time I went to look for you in the old place, I was simply told you had left, by a stupid old woman who knew nothing. Then I called again and asked for Miss—you know whom I mean; she is rather a brick, and told me all about you. In the mean time I met Mrs. Ormonde. I was determined not to askheranything—she is such a selfish little devil. Now here I am face to face with you at last." And he drew a chair opposite her, and was silent for a minute, gazing with a wistful look in her face.
"You have not a very high opinion of my sister-in-law," said Katherine, beginning as far away from themselves as she could.
"She is an average woman," he said, shortly. "But tell me, what is the matter with you? I did not think you were the sort of girl to break your heart over the loss of a fortune."
"But I have not broken my heart!" she exclaimed, somewhat startled by his positive tone.
"There's a look of pain in your eyes, a despondency in your very figure; don't you think I know every turn of you? Well, I won't say more if it annoys you. We have changed places, Katherine—I mean Miss Liddell. Fortune has given me a turn at last, and I have been tremendously busy. I had no idea how troublesome it is to be rich. There are compensations, however. This doesn't seem a bad sort of place"—looking round at the crowd of china and bric-a-brac ornaments and the comfortable chairs. "How did you come here, and what has been settled? Don't think me impertinent or intrusive; you know you agreed we should be friends, and you must not send me adrift!"
"Thank you, Lord de Burgh. I am sure you could be a very loyal friend. My story is very short." And she gave him a brief sketch of how her affairs had been arranged.
"By George! Ormonde is a mean sneak. To think of his leaving those boys on your hands! and he has plenty of money. I happen to know that his wife has been dabbling in the stocks, and turned some money too. Now where did she get the cash to do it with butfrom him? So I suppose you intend to starve yourself in order to educate the poor little chaps?"
"Oh no. On the contrary, I am living on the fat of the land, with the kindest mistress in the world."
"Mistress! Great heavens! Whywillyou persist in such a life?"
"My dear Lord de Burgh, don't you know that it is not always easy to judge or to act for another?
"Which means I am to mind my own business?"
"You have a very unvarnished style of stating facts."
"I know I have." A short pause, and he began again. "Where are those boys now?
"At Sandbourne. But, alas! I am going to take them away to-morrow. They are going to a school at Wandsworth."
"Going down to Sandbourne to-morrow? Is Miss Payne going with you?"
"Oh no; I don't need any one."
"Nonsense! you can't go about alone. I'll meet you at the station and escort you there."
Katherine laughed. "I am afraid that would never do. You have increased in importance and I have diminished, till the distance between our respective stations has widened far too much to permit of familiar intercourse, or—"
"I never thought I should hearyoutalking such rubbish. What difference can there be between us, except that you are a good woman and I amnota good man? I don't think it's quite fair that on our first meeting after ages—at least quite two months of separation—you should talk in this satirical way."
"I speak the words of truth and soberness, Lord de Burgh."
"Perhaps. I can't quite make you out. I am certain you have been in worse trouble than even want of money. I wish you'd confide in me. That's the right word, isn't it? Do you know, I can be very true to my friends, and silent as the grave. I could tellyoueverything."
"Thank you. I am sure you could be a faithful friend."
"Do you ever see Errington?" asked De Burgh, changing the subject abruptly.
"Oh yes. He often comes here."
"Indeed? To see you, or Mrs.—what's her name?"
"To see Mrs. Needham," returned Katherine, smiling.
"Hum! I suppose he has a taste for mature beauty?"
"I do not know. At all events Mrs. Needham knows charming girls—enough to suit all tastes, and Mr. Errington—"
"Is too superior a fellow to be influenced by such attractions, eh?" put in De Burgh.
"I am not so sure;" and she laughed merrily. "I think there is one fair lady for whom he is inclined to forego his philosophic tranquility."
"Ha! I thought so. Yourself?"
"Me! No, indeed! A young lady of high attainments and a large fortune."
"Indeed? I am glad of it. He must be awfully hard up, poor devil!"
"Mr. Errington can never be poor," cried Katherine, offended by the disparaging epithet. "He carries his fortune in his brain."