"A NEW PHASE."
"An interval of three weeks--six months--ten years," as the case may
be--"is supposed to have elapsed since the last act." This is a very
commonly used expression in play-bills, and there seems no just cause or
impediment why a story-teller should not avail himself of the same
device to waft the patient reader over an uneventful period, during
which the hero or heroine has been granted a "breathing space" between
the ebb and flow of harrowing adventures and moving incidents.
It was, then, more than two years since the last chapter, and a still
cold day at the end of February--still and somewhat damp--in one of the
midland shires--say Clayshire. The dank hedges and sodden fields had a
melancholy aspect, which seemed to affect a couple of horsemen who were
walking their jaded, much-splashed horses along a narrow road, or
rather lane, which led between a stretch of pasture-land on one side and
a ploughed field on the other. The red coats and top-boots of both were
liberally besprinkled with mud; even their hats had not quite escaped.
Their steeds hung their heads and moved languidly; both horses and
riders had evidently had a hard day's work. Presently the road sloped
somewhat steeply to a hollow sheltered at one side by a steep bank
overgrown with brushwood and large trees. The country behind the
huntsmen was rather flat and very open, but from this point it became
broken and wooded, sloping gradually up toward a distant range of low
blue hills.
"Ha, you blundering idiot!" exclaimed the elder of the two men, pulling
up his horse, a powerful roan, as he stumbled at the beginning of the
descent. He was a big, heavy man with a red face, thick gray mustache,
and small, angry-looking eyes. "He'll break my neck some day."
"Don't take away his character," returned his companion, laughing.
"Remember he has had a hard run, and you are not a feather-weight." The
speaker was tall (judging from the length of the well-shaped leg which
lay close against his horse's side), large-framed, and bony; his plain
strong face was tanned to swarthiness by exposure to wind and weather;
moreover, a pair of deep-set dark eyes and long, nearly black mustache
showed that he had been no fair, ruddy youth to begin with.
"No, by Jove!" exclaimed the first speaker. "I don't understand how it
is that I grow so infernally stout. I am sure I take exercise enough,
and live most temperately."
"Exercise! Yes, for five or six months; the rest of the twelve you do
nothing. And as to living temperately, what with a solid breakfast, a
heavy luncheon, and a serious dinner, you manage to consume a great deal
in the twenty-four hours."
"Come, De Burgh! Hang it, I rarely eat lunch."
"Only when you can get it. Say two hundred and ninety times out of the
three hundred and sixty-five days of the year."
"I admit nothing of the sort. The fact is, what I eat goes into a good
skin. Now you might _cram_ the year round and be a bag of bones at the
end of it."
"Thank God for all his mercies," replied De Burgh. "The fact is, you are
a spoiled favorite of fortune, and in addition to all the good things
you have inherited you pick up a charming wife who spoils you and
coddles you in a way to make the mouth of an unfortunate devil like
myself water with envy."
"None of that nonsense, De Burgh," complacently. "The heart of a
benedict knoweth its own bitterness, though I can't complain much. If
you hadn't been the reckless _roue_ you are, you might have been as well
off as myself."
De Burgh laughed. "You see, I never cared for domestic bliss. I hate
fetters of every description, and I lay the ruin of my morals to the
score of that immortal old relative of mine who persists in keeping me
out of my heritage. The conviction that you are always sure of an
estate, and possibly thirty thousand a year, has a terrible effect on
one's character."
"If you had stuck to the Service you'd have been high up by this time,
with the reputation you made in the Mutiny time, for you were little
more than a boy then."
"Ay, or low down! Not that I should have much to regret if I were. I
have had a lot of enjoyment out of life, however, but at present I am
coming to the end of my tether. I am afraid I'll have to sell the few
acres that are left to me, and if that gets to the Baron's ears, good-by
to my chance of his bequeathing me the fortune he has managed to scrape
together between windfalls and lucky investments. The late Baroness had
a pot of money, you know."
"I know there's not much property to go with the title."
"A beggarly five thousand a year. I say, Ormonde, are you disposed for a
good thing? Lend me three thousand on good security? Six per cent., old
man!"
"I am not so disposed, my dear fellow! I have a wife and my boy to think
of now."
"Exactly," returned the other, with a sneer. "You have a new edition of
Colonel Ormonde's precious self."
"Oh, your sneers don't touch me! You always had your humors; still I am
willing to help a kinsman, and I will give you a chance if you like.
What do you say to a rich young wife--none of your crooked sticks?"
"It's an awful remedy for one's financial disease, to mortgage one's
self instead of one's property; still I suppose I'll have to come to it.
Who is the proposed mortgagee?"
"My wife's sister."
"Oh!"
The tone of this "Oh!" was in some unaccountable way offensive to
Colonel Ormonde. "Miss Liddell comes of a very good old county family I
can tell you," he said, quickly; "a branch of the Somerset Liddells; and
when I saw her last she was the making of an uncommon fine woman."
"But your wife was a Mrs. Liddell, was she not?"
"Yes. This girl is her sister-in-law, really, but Mrs. Ormonde looks on
her as a sister."
"Hum! She _has_ the cash? I suppose you know all about it?"
"Well, yes, you may be sure of sixty or seventy thousand, which would
keep you going till Lord de Burgh joins the majority."
"Yes, that might do; so 'trot her out.'"
"She is coming to stay with us in a week or two, before the hunting is
quite over, so you will be down here still."
"I suspect I shall. The lease of the lodge won't be out till next
September, and I may as well stay there as anywhere."
"Katherine Liddell is quite unencumbered; she has neither father nor
mother, nor near relation of any kind; in fact Mrs. Ormonde and myself
are her next friends, and in a few weeks she will be of age."
"All very favorable for her," said De Burgh, in his careless, commanding
way. His tones were deep and harsh, and though unmistakably one of the
"upper ten," there was a degree of roughness in his style, which,
however, did not prevent him from being rather a favorite with women,
who always seemed to find his attentions peculiarly flattering.
"Come," cried Ormonde, "let us push on. I am getting chilled to the
bone, and we are late enough already."
He touched his horse with the spur, and both riders urged their steeds
to a trot. Turning a bend of the road, they came suddenly upon a young
lady accompanied by two little boys, in smart velvet suits. They were
walking in the direction of Castleford--walking so smartly that the
smaller of the two boys went at a trot. "Hullo!" cried Colonel Ormonde,
pulling up for an instant. "What are you doing here? I hope the baby has
not been out so late?"
"Baby has gone to drive with mother," chorussed the boys eagerly, as if
a little awed.
"All right! Time you were home too," and he spurred after De Burgh.
"Mrs. Ormonde's boys?" asked the latter.
"Yes; have you never seen them?"
"I knew they existed, but I cannot say I ever beheld them before."
"Oh, Mrs. Ormonde never bores people with her brats."
"After they are out of infancy," returned the other, dryly.
A remark which helped to "rile" Colonel Ormonde, and he said little more
till they reached their destination, and both retired to enjoy the
luxury of a bath before dressing for dinner.
John de Burgh was a distant relation of Ormonde's, but having been
thrown together a good deal, they seemed nearer of kin than they really
were. De Burgh was somewhat overbearing, and dominated Colonel Ormonde
considerably. He was also somewhat lawless by nature, hating restraint
and intent upon his own pleasure. The discipline of military life, light
as it is to an officer, became intolerable to him when the excitement
and danger of real warfare were past, and he resigned his commission to
follow his own sweet will.
Ultimately he became renowned as a crack rider, and one of the best
steeple-chase jockeys on the turf in all competitions between gentlemen.
Mrs. Ormonde considered him quite an important personage, heir to an old
title, and first or second cousin to a host of peers. It took many a day
to accustom her to think of her husband's connections without a sense of
pride and exultation, at which Ormonde laughed heartily whenever he
perceived it. On his side De Burgh thought her a very pretty little toy,
quite amusing with her small airs and graces and assumption of
fine-ladyism, and he showed her a good deal of indolent attention, at
which her husband was rather flattered.
The rector of the parish and one or two officers of Colonel Ormonde's
old regiment, which happened to be quartered at a manufacturing town a
few miles distant, made up the party at dinner that evening, and
afterward they dropped off one by one to the billiard-room, till Mrs.
Ormonde and De Burgh found themselves _tete-a-tete_.
"Do you wear black every night because it suits you down to the ground?"
he asked, after very deliberately examining her from head to foot, when
he had thrown down a newspaper he had been scanning.
"No; I am in mourning. Don't you see I have only black lace and jet, and
a little crape?"
"Ah! and that constitutes mourning, eh? Well, there is very little
mourning in your laughing eyes. Who is dead?"
"My mother-in-law."
"Your mother-in-law! I didn't know Ormonde----"
"I mean Mrs. Liddell; and I am quite sorry for her; she was wonderfully
fond of me, and very kind."
"Why, what an angel you must be to fascinate a _belle-mere_! Then the
dear departed must be the mother of that Miss Liddell whom Ormonde was
recommending to me this afternoon?"
"Who--my husband? How silly! She would not suit you a bit."
"Well, Ormonde thought her fortune might."
"Oh, her fortune! that is another thing. But she will not be so very
rich if she fulfils her promise to settle part of her fortune on my
boys. You see, if their poor father had lived, he would have shared
their uncle's money with his sister. Now it is too hideously unjust that
my poor dear boys should have nothing, and Katherine is very properly
going to make it up to them."
"A young woman with a very high sense of justice. A good deal under the
influence of her charming sister-in-law, I presume."
"Well, rather," returned Mrs. Ormonde, with an air of superiority.
"Katherine is a mere enthusiastic school-girl, easily imposed upon. Both
Colonel Ormonde and myself feel bound to look after her."
"Will she let you?" asked De Burgh, dryly.
"Of course she will. She knows nothing of the world, or at least very
little, for she did not go much into society while they were abroad."
"Has she been abroad?"
"Yes; Mrs. Liddell was out of health when Katherine came into this
money, and they have been away in Italy and Germany and Paris for quite
two years. They were on their way home when Mrs. Liddell was taken ill.
She died in Paris, of typhoid fever, just before Christmas."
"Two years in Italy, Germany, and Paris," repeated De Burgh; "she can't
be quite a novice, then."
"Oh, she thinks she knows a great deal; and she _is_ a nice girl, though
curious and fanciful. I like her very much indeed, but I do not fancy
_you_ would. She is certainly obstinate. Instead of coming direct to us,
and making her home here, as we were quite willing she should, she has
gone to Miss Payne, a woman who, I believe, exists by acting chaperon to
rich girls with no relations. Fancy, she has absolutely agreed to live
with this Miss Payne for a year before consulting us, or asking our
consent--or--or anything!"
"Is she not a minor?"
"She will be of age in a week or two, and it makes me quite nervous to
think that other influences may prevent her keeping her promise to my
boys. It is a mercy she did not marry some greedy foreigner while she
was under age. Fortunately, men never seemed to take a fancy to
Katherine."
"They will be pretty sure to take a fancy to her money."
"I think she lived so quietly people did not suspect her of having any.
She is awfully cut up about the death of her mother, and does not go
anywhere. I hope she will come down here next week. The only person I am
afraid of is a horrid stiff old lawyer who seems to be her right hand
man. He went over to Paris when Mrs. Liddell died, and did everything,
instead of sending for Colonel Ormonde! I felt quite hurt about it."
"Ha! a shrewd old lawyer is bad to beat," said De Burgh, looking at his
lively informant with half-closed eyes and an amused expression. "I
wouldn't be too sure of your sister if I were you. Under such guidance
the young lady may alter her generous intentions."
"Pray do not say such horrible things, Mr. De Burgh!" cried Mrs.
Ormonde, growing very grave, even pathetic, and looking inclined to cry.
"What would become of me--I mean us--if she changed her mind? 'Duke
would be furious; he would never forgive me."
"Pooh! nonsense! a man would forgive a woman like you anything."
"A woman, perhaps, but not his wife," she returned, shaking her head.
"But I won't think of anything so dreadful. I am quite sure Katie will
never break her word; she is awfully true."
"That is rather an alarming character. You make me quite curious. What
is she like--anything like you?"
"Not a bit. You know, she is only my sister-in-law. She is tall and
large, and much more decided"--looking up in his face with a caressing
smile.
"I understand. Not a delicate little darling, made for laughter and
kisses, and sugar, and spice, and all that's nice, like _you_." This
with an insolent, admiring look. "Not a woman to fall in love with, but
useful as a wife to keep one's household up to the collar."
"Really, Mr. De Burgh, you are very shocking! You must not say such
things to me."
"Mustn't I? How shall you prevent me? I am a relative, you know. You
can't treat me as a stranger."
"You are quite too audacious--" she was beginning, when a slim young
cornet came back from the billiard-room.
"The Colonel wants you, Mrs. Ormonde," he said; "and you too, De Burgh.
We are not enough for pool, and you play a capital game, Mrs. Ormonde."
"What are the stakes?" asked De Burgh, rising readily enough.
"Oh, I can't play well at all," said Mrs. Ormonde, following him with
evident reluctance. "Certainly not when Colonel Ormonde is looking on."
"Oh, never mind him. I'll screen you from his hypercritical eyes,"
returned De Burgh, as he held the door open for her to pass out.
So it was, after a spell of heavenly tranquility, as Katherine and her
mother were on their way to England, intending to make a home in or near
London, Mrs. Liddell had been struck down with fever, and Katherine was
left unspeakably desolate. Then she turned to her old friend Mr. Newton,
and found him of infinite use and comfort.
A short space of numb inaction followed, during which she fully realized
the loneliness of her position, and from which she roused herself to
plan her future.
At the time Mrs. Liddell was first attacked with fever they had just
renewed their acquaintance with a Miss Payne, whom they had met in Rome
and at Berlin. She was not unknown in society, for she came of a good
old county family, and was half-sister of the Bertie whose name has
already appeared in these pages.
Their father, with an old man's pride in a handsome only son, had left
the bulk of his fortune to Bertie, while Hannah, who had ministered to
his comfort and borne his ill-humor, inherited only a paltry couple of
hundred a year, with a fairly well furnished house in Wilton Street,
Hyde Park. Her brother would have willingly added to this pittance, but
she sternly refused to accept what did not of right belong to her.
Bertie went with his regiment to India, whence he returned a wiser, a
poorer, and a physically weaker man.
His sister, whose business instincts were much too strong to permit her
wrapping up such a "talent" as a freehold house in the napkin of
unfruitful occupation, looked round to see how she could best turn it to
account. Accident threw in her way a girl of large fortune with no
relations, whose guardians, thankful to find a respectable home for her,
readily agreed to pay Miss Payne handsomely for taking charge of the
orphan. Her first _protegee_ married well, under her auspices, and from
henceforth her house was rarely empty. Sometimes she accepted a roving
commission and travelled with her charge, meanwhile letting her house in
town, so making a double profit. It was on one of these expeditions that
she was introduced to Mrs. and Miss Liddell. There was an air of
sincerity and common-sense about the composed elderly gentlewoman which
rather attracted the former, and, when they met again in Paris, Miss
Payne came to Katie in her trouble and proved a brave and capable nurse;
nor was she unsympathetic, though far from effusive. So, finding that
Miss Payne's last young lady had left her, Katherine, with the approval
of Mr. Newton, proposed to become her inmate for a year--an arrangement
entirely in accordance with Miss Payne's wishes.
"I did not know you were acquainted with Miss Liddell," she said one
evening when she was sitting with her brother, Katherine having retired
early, as she often did. "It is quite a surprise to me."
"I can hardly say I am acquainted with her; I happened to be of some
slight use to her once, and I met her after by accident, when we spoke;
that is all."
"I wonder she did not mention it to me."
"I imagine she hardly knew my name." Miss Payne uttered an inarticulate
sound between a h'm and a groan, by which she generally expressed
indefinite dissent and disapprobation. Then she rose and walked to the
dwarf bookcase at the end of the room to fetch her tatting. She was tall
and slight. Following her, you might imagine her young, for her figure
was good and her step brisk. Meeting her face to face, her pale,
slightly puckered cheeks, closely compressed lips, keen light eyes, and
crisp pepper-and-salt hair--Cayenne pepper, for it had once been
red--suggested at least twenty or twenty-five additional years as
compared with the back view.
Returning to her seat, she began to tat, slowing drawing each knot home
with a reflective air.
"That woman is hunting her up," she exclaimed suddenly, after a few
minutes' silence, during which Bertie looked thoughtfully at the
fire--his quiet face, with its look of unutterable peace, the strongest
possible contrast to his sister's hard, shrewd aspect.
"What woman?" asked, as if recalled from a dream.
"Mrs. Ormonde. There was a telegram from her this afternoon. She has
been worrying Miss Liddell to go to them ever since she set foot in
England; and as that won't do, she is coming up to-morrow to see what
personal persuasion will do."
"I dare say Mrs. Ormonde is fond of her sister-in-law. She is too well
off to have any mercenary designs."
"Is that all your experience has taught you?" (contemptuously). "If
there is any truth in hand-writing, that Mrs. Ormonde is a fool. Her
letter after Mrs. Liddell's death, which Katherine showed me because it
touched her, was the production of an effusive idiot. I don't trust
sentimentalists; they seldom have much honesty or justice. Katherine
Liddell is a little soft too, but she is by no means so asinine as the
others I have had. Wait, however--wait till some man takes her fancy;
that is the divining-rod to show where the springs of folly lie."
"Miss Liddell is a good deal changed," returned Bertie, slowly. "She
looks considerably older. No, that is not the right expression: I mean
she seems more mature than when I saw her before. What she says is said
deliberately; what she does is with the full consciousness of what she
is doing; but she looks as if she had suffered."
"She has," said Miss Payne, with an air of conviction. "Her grief for
her mother was, is, deep and real. I don't believe in floods of
tears--they are a relief."
"Yes; and though she looks so pale and sad, she is not a whit less
beautiful than she was."
"Beautiful!" repeated Miss Payne. "I rather admire her myself, but I
don't think any one could call her beautiful."
"Perhaps not. There is so much expression in her face, such feeling in
her eyes, that not many really beautiful women would stand comparison
with her."
Miss Payne sniffed, and then she smiled. "She is not a commonplace young
woman, though I fear she is easily imposed upon. I am afraid she may be
snapped up by some plausible fortune-hunter."
Bertie frowned slightly. "I trust she may be guided to happiness with
some good, God-fearing man," he said, and then, he bid his sister
good-night somewhat abruptly.
Meantime, Katherine sat plunged in thought beside the fire in her
bedroom. She was not given to weeping, but she was profoundly sad. To
find herself again in London without her mother seemed to renew the
intense grief which had indeed lost but little of its keenness. Never
had a mother been more terribly missed. They had been such sympathetic
friends, such close companions; they had had such a hearty respect for
and appreciation of each other's qualities, such a pleasant
comprehension of each other's different tastes, that it would be hard to
fill the place of the dear, lost comrade with whom she had hitherto
walked hand in hand. It soothed her to think of the delightful
tranquility Mrs. Liddell had enjoyed for the last two years, of the
untroubled sweetness of their intercourse, of her mother's last
contented words: "I am quite happy, dear. Your future is secure, and you
have never given me a moment's pain. We have had such delightful days
together!"
How could she have borne to have seen a pained, anxious look--such a
look as was once familiar to them--in those dear eyes, as they closed
forever on this mortal scene! Oh, thank God for the heavenly security of
those last days whatever the price she had paid for them!
Motherless, she was utterly desolate. It would be long, long before she
could find any one to fill her mother's place, if she ever did. For the
present she was satisfied to stay with Miss Payne, but she did not think
she could ever love her. The idea of residing with Colonel Ormonde and
his wife was distasteful. The most attractive scheme was to beg her
little nephews from their mother, and take them to live with her. She
was almost of age, and _felt_ old enough to set up for herself. As she
pondered on these things she felt bitterly that, rich or poor, a
homeless woman is a wretched creature.
At last she went to bed, and lay for a while watching the fire-light as
it cast flickering shadows, thinking of the tender, watchful love which
had dropped away out of her life; and with the murmured words, "Dear,
dear mother!" on her lips she fell asleep.
The next day broke bright and clear, though cold, and having kept
Katherine at home all day, Mrs. Ormonde made her appearance in time for
afternoon tea.
"My dear, dearest Katherine!" cried the little woman, fluttering in, all
fur and feathers, in the richest and most becoming morning toilette,
looking prettier and younger than ever, "I am _so_ delighted to see you
once more! Why have you staid in town, instead of coming straight to
us?" and she embraced her tall sister-in-law effusively.
Katherine returned her embrace. For a moment or two she could not
command her voice; the sight of the known childish face, the sound of
the shrill familiar voice, brought a flood of sudden sorrow over her
heart; but Mrs. Ormonde was not the sort of woman to whom she could
express it.
"And _I_ am very glad to see _you_, Ada! How well you are looking--even
younger and fairer than you used!"
"Yes, I am uncommonly well; and you, dear, you are looking pale and ill
and older! You will forgive me, but I am quite distressed. You must come
down to Castleford at once."
"Thank you. Where are the boys? I hoped you would bring them."
"Oh, Colonel Ormonde thought they would be too troublesome for me in a
hotel, so I left them behind. They were awfully disappointed, poor
dears; but it is better _you_ should come down and see them. Cecil is
going to school after Easter, and I believe Charlie must go soon."
"I long to see them," said Katherine, assisting her visitor to take off
her cloak.
"And _I_ long to show you my new little boy," cried Mrs. Ormonde,
drawing a chair to the fire, and putting her small, daintily shod feet
on the fender. "He is a splendid child, amazingly forward for six
months."
"I am glad you are so happy, Ada; I shall be pleased to make the
acquaintance of my new nephew. I suppose I may consider him a sort of
nephew?"
"My dear, of _course_! Colonel Ormonde, as well as myself, is proud to
consider you his aunt. Yes, I am very happy--though Ormonde _is_ rather
provoking sometimes; still, he is not half bad, and I know how to manage
him. You are _such_ a favorite with my husband, Katie. He admires you so
much, I sometimes threaten to be jealous--why, what is the matter,
dear?"
Katherine had suddenly covered her face with her handkerchief and burst
into tears.
"Do not mind me, Ada!" she said, when she could speak. "It was just that
name; no one has called me Katie except my mother and you, and the idea
that I should never hear her speak again overpowered me for a moment."
Mrs. Ormonde was puzzled. Not knowing what to do in face of a great
grief, she took out her own pocket-handkerchief politely.
"Of course, dear," she said; "it is quite natural. I was awfully cut up
when I heard of your sad loss--and mine too, for I am sure Mrs. Liddell
loved me like her own child; it was quite wonderful for a mother-in-law.
I was afraid to speak to you about her, but I am sure she would like you
to live with us; it is your natural home. And--and she would, I am sure,
be pleased if she can know what is going on here below, to see that you
fulfilled your kind intentions to her poor little grandsons." These last
words with some hesitation.
Katherine kept silence, and still held her handkerchief to her eyes. So
Mrs. Ormonde resumed: "A good, religious girl like you, Katherine, must
feel that it is right to submit to the will of--"
"Yes, yes; I know all about that," interrupted Katherine, who was rather
irritated than soothed by her sister-in-law's attempt at preaching; and
recovering herself, she added: "I will not worry you with my tears. Tell
me how the boys get on with Colonel Ormonde."
"Very well indeed, especially Cecil. 'Duke is very kind. They have a
pony, and quite enjoy the country; but now that we have a boy of our
own, we feel doubly anxious that Cis and Charlie should be permanently
provided for; so do, dear, come back with me, and talk it all over with
my husband. He is _such_ a good man of business."
Katherine smiled faintly; she had not seen the drift of Mrs. Ormonde's
remarks at first; there was no mistaking them now. A slightly
mischievous sense of power kept her from setting her sister-in-law's
mind at rest immediately.
"I do not think it necessary to consult with Colonel Ormonde, Ada, for I
have quite made up my mind what to do. I think you may trust your boys
to me. I must see Mr. Newton and arrange many matters, so I do not think
I can go to you just yet. Then, I do not like to be in the way, and I
could _not_ mix in society just yet. Oh, I am not morbid or sentimental,
but some months of seclusion I _must_ have."
Mrs. Ormonde played with the tassel of the screen with which she
sheltered her face from the fire while she thought: "What can she really
mean to do? I wonder if she is engaged to any one, and waiting for him
here? Once she is married, good-by to a settlement. She is awfully
deep!" Then she said aloud, coaxingly, "Oh, we are very quiet
home-staying people. We have a few men to stay now and again, but we
never give big dinners. Tell me the truth, dear, are you not engaged? It
would be but natural. A charming girl like you, with a large fortune,
could not escape a multitude of lovers."
"You are wrong, Ada. I am not engaged, and I have no lovers. Of course a
prince or two and a German graf did me the honor of proposing to annex
my property, taking myself with it. Any well-dowered girl may expect
such offers in Continental society; but they did not affect me."
"No, no; certainly not! It will be an Englishman. Quite right. And 'Duke
must find out all about him. You know, dear, you would marry ever so
much better from _my_ house than you possibly could _here_, with a
person who, after all, merely keeps a _pension_."
"If Miss Payne could hear you!" said Katherine.
"Oh, I should never say it to her. But, Katherine, now is your time,
when you are of age, and before you marry--now is the time to settle
whatever you intend to settle on my poor little boys. I am sure you will
excuse me for mentioning it, won't you? Between you and me, I don't
think 'Duke would have married if he had not believed you would provide
for Cis and Charlie. I don't know what would become of us if they were
thrown on his hands."
"You need not fear," cried Katherine, quickly. "My nephews shall never
cost Colonel Ormonde a sou."
"No, I was sure you wouldn't, dear, you are such a kind, generous
creature, so unselfish. I do hate selfishness, and though the allowance
you now give is very handsome--"
"I am to make it a little larger," put in Katherine, good-humoredly, as
Mrs. Ormonde paused, not knowing how to finish her sentence. "Be
content, Ada; you shall have due notice when I have made all my plans. I
have a good deal to do, for I ought to make my will too."
"Your will! Oh yes, to be sure. I never thought of that. But if you
marry it will be of no use."
"Until I _am_ married it will be of use."
"And when do you intend to come to us?"
"Oh, some time next month."
"I hope so. I want to come up for a while after Easter, and am trying to
get the Colonel to take a house; _that_ depends on you a good deal. If
you would join me in taking a house for three months he would agree at
once."
"But I have just agreed to stay with Miss Payne for a year."
"How foolish! how short-sighted!" cried Mrs. Ormonde. "You will be just
lost in a second-rate place like this."
"It will suit me perfectly. I only want rest and peace at present. I
dare say it will not be so always."
"Well, I know there is no use in talking to you. You will go your own
way. Only, as I am in town, _do_ come to my dressmaker's. Though you had
your mourning in Paris, do you know, you look quite dowdy. You'll not
mind my saying so?"
"I dare say I do. Miss Payne got everything for me."
"Oh, are you going to give yourself into her hands blindfold? I am
afraid she is a designing woman. You really must get some stylish
dresses. You must do yourself justice."
"I have as many as I want, and there is no need of wasting money, even
if you have a good deal. How many poor souls need food and clothes!"
"Oh, Katherine, if you begin to talk in that way, you will be robbed and
plundered to no end."
"I hope not. Here is tea, and Miss Payne. I will come and see you
to-morrow early, and bring some little presents for the boys."