A WANDERER RETURNS.
It was quite an event in Katherine's quiet life to go to a party. She
had never been at one in London, and anticipated it with interest. Both
in Florence and Paris she had mixed in society and greatly enjoyed it.
Now she felt a little curious as to the impression she might make and
receive. Her nature was essentially vigorous and healthy, and threw off
morbid feelings as certain chemicals repel others inimical to them. She
would have enjoyed life intensely but for the perpetually recurring
sense of irritation against herself for having forfeited her own
self-respect by her hasty action. It would have been somewhat
humiliating to have taken charity from the hands of Errington, but this
was as nothing to the crushing abasement of knowing that she had cheated
him. Still, no condition of mind is constant--except with
monomaniacs--and Katherine was often carried away from herself and her
troubles.
She was glad, on the whole, that De Burgh was to be at Lady Barrington's
reception.
She was too genial, too responsive, not to find admiration very
acceptable. Nor could she believe that a man like De Burgh, hard,
daring, careless, could suffer much or long through his affections. It
flattered her woman's vanity, too, that with her he dropped his cynical,
mocking tone, and spoke with straightforward earnestness. He might have
ended by interesting and flattering her till she loved him--for he had a
certain amount of attraction--if her carefully resisted feeling for
Errington had not created an antidote to the poison he might have
introduced into her life.
Altogether she dressed with something of anticipated pleasure, and was
not displeased with the result of her toilette.
Her dress was as deeply mourning as it was good taste to wear at an
evening party. A few folds of gauzy white lisse softened the edge of her
thick black silk corsage, a jet necklet and comb set off her snowy,
velvety throat and bright golden brown hair.
"I had no idea you would turn out so effectively!" exclaimed Mrs.
Ormonde, examining her with a critical eye as they took off their wraps
in the ladies' cloak-room. "Your dress might have been cut a little
lower, dear; with a long throat like yours it is very easy to keep
within the bounds of decency. I wonder you do not buy yourself some
diamonds; they are so becoming."
"I shall wait for some one to give them to me," returned Katherine,
laughing.
"Quite right"--very gravely--"only if I were you I should make haste and
decide on the 'some one.'"
"Mrs. Ormonde and Miss Liddell!" shouted the waiters from landing to
door, and the next moment Lady Barrington, a large woman in black velvet
and a fierce white cap in which glittered an aigret of diamonds, was
welcoming them with much cordiality.
"Very happy to see any friend of yours, my dear Miss Liddell! I think I
had the pleasure of meeting you, Mrs. Ormonde, at Lord Trevallan's
garden-party last June?"
"Oh yes; were _you_ there?" with saucy surprise.
"Algernon," continued Lady Barrington, motioning with her fan to a tall,
thin youth. "My nephew, Mrs. Ormonde, Miss Liddell. I think Algernon had
the pleasure of meeting you at Rome?" Katherine bowed and smiled. "Take
Mrs. Ormonde and Miss Liddell in and find them seats near the piano.
Signor Bandolini and Madam Montebello are good enough to give us some of
their charming duets, and are just going to begin. I was afraid you
might be late."
So Mrs. Ormonde and Miss Liddell were ushered to places of honor, and
the music began.
"I don't see a soul I know," whispered Mrs. Ormonde, presently. "Yet the
women are well dressed and look nice enough, but the men are decidedly
caddish."
"London is a large place, with room in it for all sorts and conditions
of men. But we must not talk, Ada."
Mrs. Ormonde was silent for a while; and then opening her fan to screen
her irrepressible desire to communicate her observations, resumed:
"I am sure I saw Captain Darrell in the doorway only for a minute, and
he went away. I hope he will come and talk to us. You were gone when he
came back from leave--to Monckton, I mean. He is rather amu--" A warning
"hush-sh" interrupted her.
"What rude, ill-bred people!" she muttered, under her breath. And soon
the duet--a new one, expressly composed to show off the vocal gymnastics
of the signore and madame--came to an end; there was a rustle of relief,
and every one burst into talk.
"How glad they are it is over!" said Mrs. Ormonde. "Look at that tall
girl in pink. You see those sparkles in the roses on her corsage and in
her hair; they are all diamonds. I know the white glitter. What airs she
gives herself! I suppose she is an heiress, and, I dare say, not half as
rich as you are."
"Don't be too sure. I am no millionaire," began Katherine, when she was
interrupted by a voice she knew, which said, "I had no idea it was to be
such a ghastly concern as this!" and turning, she found De Burgh close
behind her.
"What offends you?" she asked, smiling.
"All this trilling and shrieking. There's tea or something going on
downstairs. You had better come away before they have a fresh burst;
they are carrying up a big fiddle."
"Tea!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde. "Oh, do take me away to have some!"
"Here, Darrell," said De Burgh, coolly, turning back to speak to some
one who stood behind him. "Here's Mrs. Ormonde dying for deliverance and
tea. Come, do your _devoir_."
Darrell hastened forward, smiling, delighted. With a little pucker of
the brow and lifting of the eyebrows Mrs. Ormonde accepted his arm.
"Now, Miss Liddell," said De Burgh, offering his; and not sorry to
escape from the heated, crowded room, Katherine took it and accompanied
him downstairs.
"I did not think you knew Lady Barrington," said Katherine, as he handed
her an ice.
"Know her? Never heard of her till you mentioned her name the day before
yesterday."
"How did she come to ask you to her house, then?"
"Let me see. Oh, I went down to the club and asked if any one knew Lady
Barrington, and who was going to her party. At last Darrell said he was
a sort of relation, and that he would ask for a card. He did, and here I
am."
"But you said you were coming."
"So I was. I made up my mind to come as soon as you said you were."
"You are very audacious, Mr. De Burgh!" said Katherine, laughing in
spite of her intention to be rather distant with him.
"Do you think so? Then I have earned the character cheaply. Are they
going to squall and fiddle all night? I thought it might turn into a
dance."
"I did not imagine you would condescend to dance."
"Why? I used to like dancing, under certain conditions. Don't fancy I
haven't an ear for music, Miss Liddell, because I said the performance
upstairs was ghastly. I am very fond of music--real sweet music. I liked
_your_ songs, and I should have liked a waltz with you--_im_mensely. You
know I never met you in society before--" He stopped abruptly and looked
at her from head to foot, with a comprehensive glance so full of the
admiration he did not venture to speak that Katherine felt the color
mount to her brow and even spread over her white throat, while an odd
sense of uneasy distress fluttered her pulses. She only said,
indifferently: "I might not prove a good partner. I have never danced
much."
"I might give you a lesson in that too, as well as in handling the
ribbons. And for that there will be a grand opportunity next week. Lord
De Burgh is coming up, and I shall have the run of his stables, which I
will take good care shall be well filled. We'll have out a smart pair of
cobs, and you shall take them round the Park every morning, till you are
fit to give all the other women whips the go-by."
"Do you seriously believe such a scheme possible?"
"It shall be if you say yes. Do you know that you have brought me luck?
You have, 'pon my soul! I am A-1 with old De Burgh, and I won a pot of
money up in Yorkshire, paid a lot of debts, sold my horses. Now, don't
you think you ought to be interested in your man Friday? You remember
our last meeting at Sandbourne--hey? Don't you think I am going to
succeed all along the line?"
"It is impossible to say," returned Katherine. "You know there is a
French proverb--" She stopped, not liking to repeat it as she suddenly
remembered the application.
"Yes, I do know the lying Gallic invention! _Heureux au jeu, malheureux
en amour_. I don't believe it. If luck's with you, all goes well; but
then Fortune is such a fickle jade!"
"I trust you will always be fortunate, Mr. De Burgh," said Katherine,
gently.
"I like to hear you say so. Now I don't often let my tongue run on as it
has, but if you'll be patient and friendly, I'll be as mild and
inoffensive as a youngster fresh from school."
"Very well," said Katherine, smiling and confused. Here she was
interrupted by the sudden approach of Mrs. Needham, her dark eyes
gleaming with pleased recognition, and her high color heightened by the
heat of the rooms. She was gorgeous in red satin, black lace and
diamonds. "My dear Miss Liddell! I have been looking for you everywhere!
I want so much to speak to you about a project I have for starting a new
weekly paper, to be called _The Woman's Weekly_. There is an empty sofa
in that little room at the other side of the hall. Do come, and I will
explain it all. It is likely to do a great deal of good, and to be a
paying concern into the bargain. You will excuse me for running away
with Miss Liddell"--to De Burgh--"but we have some matters to discuss.
We shall meet you upstairs afterwards." She swept Katherine away, while
De Burgh stood scowling. Who was this audacious pirate who had cut out
his convoy from under the fire of his angry eyes?
"You see, my dear," commenced Mrs. Needham, in a low voice and speaking
rapidly, "there is an immense field to be cultivated in the humble
strata of the better working-class, and the paper I wish to establish
will be quite different from _The Queen_, more useful and less than
half-price. No stuff about fashionable marriages in print that is enough
to blind an eagle, but useful receipts and work patterns, domestic
information, and a story--a story is a great point--a description of any
great events, and fashion plates, etc." And she poured forth a torrent
of what she was pleased to term "facts and figures" till Katherine felt
fairly bewildered.
"It seems a great undertaking," she replied, when she could get a word
in. "I shall require a great deal of explanation before I can comprehend
it. Will you not come and see me when we shall be alone, and we can
discuss it quietly?"
"Certainly, my dear Miss Liddell--to-morrow. No; to-morrow I have about
seven or eight engagements between two and six-thirty. Let me see. I am
terribly pressed just now; I will write and fix some morning if you will
come and lunch with me. If you could see your way to taking a few shares
it would be a great help. Money--money--money. Without the filthy lucre
nothing can be begun or ended. Now tell me how you have been. I have
been coming to see you for _months_, but never get a moment to myself;
but I have heard of you from Mr. Payne. What a good fellow he is! How is
Miss Payne?" Katherine replied, and Mrs. Needham rushed on: "Nice party,
isn't it? There are several literary people here to-night. I did not
know Lady Barrington went in for literary society, but one picks up a
little of all sorts when you live abroad for a while. Here is a very
interesting man. He is coming very much to the front as a political and
philosophic writer. It is said he is to be the editor of _The Empire_,
that new monthly which they say is to take the lead of all the
magazines. I met him at Professor Kean's last week. I don't think he
sees me--Good-evening! Don't think you remember me--Mrs. Needham. Had
the pleasure of meeting you at Professor Kean's last Monday. Mr.
Errington, Miss Liddell!"
"I have already the pleasure of knowing Miss Liddell," he returned, with
a grave smile and stately bow, as he took the hand Katherine
hesitatingly held out.
"Oh, indeed; I was not aware of it." Errington stood talking with Mrs.
Needham, or, rather, answering her rapid questions respecting a variety
of subjects, until she suddenly recognized some one to whom she was
imperatively compelled to speak. With a hasty, "Will you be so good as
to take Miss Liddell to her friends?" she darted away with surprising
lightness and rapidity, considering her size and solidity.
"Would you like to go upstairs?" asked Errington.
"If you please." Katherine was quivering with pain and pleasure at
finding herself thus virtually alone with the man whose image haunted
her in spite of her constant determined efforts to banish it from her
mind.
On the first landing was a conservatory prettily lit and decorated, and
larger than those ordinarily appended to London houses. "Suppose we rest
here," said Errington. "From the quiet which reigns above, I think some
one is reciting and that is not an exhilarating style of amusement."
"I should think not. I have never heard any one attempt to recite in
England."
"May you long be preserved from the infliction! There are very few who
can make recitation endurable."
After some enquiries for Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde, and a few
observations on the beautiful, abundant flowers, Errington said: "Won't
you sit down? If it is not unpleasant to you, I should like to improve
this occasion, as I rarely have an opportunity of seeing you."
Katherine complied, and sat down on a settee which was behind a central
group of tall feathery ferns. She was another creature from the bright
and somewhat coquettish girl who was always ready to answer De Burgh or
Colonel Ormonde with keen prompt wit. Silent, downcast, scarcely able to
raise her eyes to Errington's, yet too fascinated to resist his wish to
continue their interview.
"I am very glad to meet you here," began Errington in his calm,
melodious voice. "It is so much better for you to mix with your kind; it
has a wholesome, humanizing influence, and may I venture to say that you
are inclined to be morbid?"
"Can you wonder?" said Katherine, soft and low.
"Yes, I do. There is no reason why you should not be bright and happy,
and enjoy the goods the gods--"
"No," she interrupted, playing nervously with the flowers in her
bouquet; "not given by the gods! Stolen from you!" She did not raise her
eyes as she spoke.
"I do beg you to put that incident out of your mind. We have arranged
the question of succession, as only I had a right to do. No one else
need know, and you will, I am sure, make a most excellent use of what is
now really yours. Forget the past, and allow me to be your friend."
"I am always thinking of you," she said, almost in a whisper. "Yet it is
always a trial to meet you. I think I would rather not. Tell me," with a
sudden impulse of tenderness and contrition, looking up to him with
humid eyes, "are you well and happy? How have you borne the terrible
change in your life?"
"I am perfectly well and quite happy," returned Errington, with a slight
smile. "The terrible change, as you term it, has affected me very
little. I find real work most exhilarating, and slight success is sweet.
Since I knew that the tangle of my poor father's affairs was
satisfactorily unravelled, I have been at ease, comparatively. Life has
many sides. I miss most my horses."
"Ah, yes, you must miss them! Well, from what I hear, you seem to be
making a place for yourself in literature. I am so glad!"
"Thank you. And you, may I ask, what are your plans?"
"If you are so good as to care, I am going to take a house and make a
home for myself and my little nephews. Without any formal agreement,
Mrs. Ormonde leaves them very much to me. They are a great interest to
me. And as you are so kind in wishing me to be happy and not morbid, I
will try to forget. I think I could be happier if you would promise me
something."
"What?"
"If ever--" She hesitated; her voice trembled. "If you ever want
anything," she hurried on, nervously, "anything, even to the half of my
kingdom, you will deign to accept it from me?"
"I will," said Errington, with a kind and, as Katherine imagined, a
condescending smile.
"He thinks me a weak, impulsive child, who must be forgiven because she
is scarcely responsible," she said to herself.
"And this preliminary settled, you will admit me to the honor of your
acquaintance?"
"Oh, Mr. Errington, do not think me ungrateful. But can you not
understand that, good and generous as you are, your presence overwhelms
me?"
"Then I will not intrude upon you. Gently and very gravely I accept your
decree."
They were silent for a moment; then Katherine said, "I was sure you
would understand me." As she spoke, De Burgh suddenly came round the
group of ferns and stood before them with an air of displeased surprise.
"Why, Miss Liddell! I thought that desperate filibuster in red satin
had carried you off. I have sought you high and low. How d'ye do,
Errington? Haven't seen you this age. Mrs. Ormonde wants to go home,
Miss Liddell."
"I suppose the recitation is over," said Errington, coolly. "I will take
Miss Liddell to Mrs. Ormonde, whom I have not seen for some time."
De Burgh, therefore, had nothing for it but to walk after the man whom
he at once decided was a dangerous rival, as indeed he would have
considered any one in the rank of a gentleman.
Mrs. Ormonde was quite charmed to see Errington. She had put him rather
out of her mind. It was a pleasant surprise to meet him once more in
society, for she had a sort of dim idea his ruin was so complete that he
must have sold his dress clothes to provide food, and could never,
therefore, hold up his head in society again.
"It is quite nice to see you once more!" she exclaimed, with a sweet
smile, after they had exchanged greetings. "Colonel Ormonde will be
delighted to hear of you. I wish you could come down for a few days'
hunting. Do give me your address, and Duke will write to you."
"There is my address," he said, taking out his card case and giving her
a card; "but I fear there is little chance of my getting out of town
till long after the hunting is over."
"Oh, you must try. At all events, come and see me. I am at Thorne's
Hotel, Dover Street, and almost always at home about five. But I leave
town next week."
Here the hostess sailed up, and touching Errington's arm, said "Sir
Arthur Haynes, the great authority on international law, you know, wants
to be introduced to you, Mr. Errington."
Mrs. Ormonde took the opportunity of saying good-night, and Katherine
took farewell of Errington with a bow.
"Twenty-four, Sycamore Court Temple. What a come-down for him!" said
Mrs. Ormonde, looking at the card she held, when they reached the
cloak-room.
"He seems cheerful enough," said Katherine, irritated at the tone in
which the observation was made; "and I thought the Temple was rather a
smart place to live in."
"I am sure I don't know. Come, it must be late. What a stupid party! How
cross De Burgh looks! I am sure he has a horrid temper."
In the hall Captain Darrell and De Burgh awaited them. The latter was
too angry to speak. He handed Katherine into the carriage, and uttering
a brief good-night, stepped back to make way for Captain Darrell, who
expressed his pleasure at having met Mrs. Ormonde, and begged to be
allowed to call next day.
On the whole, Katherine felt comforted by the assurance of Errington's
friendly feeling toward her. How cruel it was to be obliged thus to
reject his kindly advances! But it was wiser. If she met him often, what
would become of her determination to steel her heart against the
extraordinary feeling he had awakened? Besides, it could only be the
wonderful patient benevolence of his nature which made him take any
notice of her. In his own mind contempt could be the only feeling she
awakened. No; the less she saw of him, the better for her.
By the time De Burgh called to escort Katherine and Mrs. Ormonde (who
had dined with her) to the theatre he had conquered the extreme, though
unreasonable, annoyance which had seized him on finding Errington and
Katherine in apparently confidential conversation. He exerted himself
therefore to be an agreeable host with success.
A play was the amusement of all others which delighted Katherine and
drew her out of herself. De Burgh was diverted and Mrs. Ormonde half
ashamed of the profound interest, the entire attention, with which she
listened to the dialogue and awaited the _denouement_.
"I should have thought you had seen too much good acting abroad to be so
delighted with this," said Mrs. Ormonde.
"But this is excellent, and the style is so new I have to thank you, Mr.
De Burgh, for a delightful evening."
"The same to you," he returned. "Seeing you enjoy it so much woke me up
to the merits of the thing."
The supper was bright and lively. Three men besides himself, and a
cousin, a pretty, chatty woman of the world, completed De Burgh's party.
There was plenty of laughing and chaffing. Katherine felt seized by a
feverish desire to shake off dull care, to forget the past, to be as
other women were. There was no reason why she should not. So she laughed
and talked with unusual animation, and treated her host with kindly
courtesy, that set his deep eyes aglow with hope and pleasure.
"It is a great advantage to be rich," said Mrs. Ormonde, reflectively,
as she leaned comfortably in the corner of the carriage which conveyed
her and her sister-in-law home. She was always a little nettled when she
found how completely Katherine had effaced herself from De Burgh's
fickle mind. She had been highly pleased with the idea of having her
husband's distinguished relative for a virtuous and despairing adorer,
and his desertion had mortified her considerably.
"Yes, money is certainly a great help," returned Katherine, scarce
heeding what she said.
"It certainly has been to you, Katie. Don't think me disagreeable for
suggesting it, but do you suppose De Burgh would show you all this
devotion if you were to lose your money?"
"Oh no! He could not afford it. He told me he must marry a rich woman."
"Did he, really? It is just like him. What audacity! I wonder you ever
spoke to him again. Then you _are_ going in for rank, Katherine?"
"How can you tell? I don't know myself. Good-night. I shall tell you
whenever I know my own mind."
"She is as close as wax, with all her frankness," thought Mrs. Ormonde
as she went up to her room, after taking an affectionate leave of her
sister-in-law.
The boys at school, Katherine found time hung somewhat heavily on her
hands--a condition of things only too favorable to thought and visions
of what "might have been." So, with the earnest hope of finding the
exhilarations which might lead, through forgetfulness, to the happiness
she so eagerly craved, Katherine accepted almost all the invitations
which were soon showered upon her. At the houses of acquaintances she
had made abroad she made numerous new ones, who were quite ready to
_fete_, the handsome, sweet-voiced, pleasant-mannered heiress, who
seemed to think so little about herself.
"Just the creature to be imposed upon, my dear!" as each mother
whispered to the one next her, thinking, of course, of the other's son.
But her most satisfactory hours were those spent with Rachel, when they
talked of the business, and often branched off to more abstract
subjects. To the past they never alluded. Katherine was glad to see that
the dead, hopeless expression of Rachel Trant's eyes had changed, yet
not altogether for good. A certain degree of alertness had brightened
them, but with it had come a hard, steady look, as though the spirit
within had a special work to do, and was steeled and "straitened till it
be accomplished."
"You are quite a clever accountant, Rachel," said Katherine, one
afternoon in early April, after they had gone through the books
together. "You have been established nearly five months, and you have
paid expenses and a trifle over."
"It is not bad. Then, you see, the warehouses will give me credit for
the next orders, three months' credit, and my orders are increasing. I
am sure it is of great importance to have materials for customers to
choose from. Ladies like to be saved the trouble of shopping, and I can
give a dress at a more moderate rate, if I provide everything, than they
can buy it piecemeal. I hope to double the business this season, and pay
you a good percentage. Even on credit I can venture to order a fair
supply of goods."
"Don't try credit yet, Rachel," said Katherine, earnestly. "I can give
you a check now, and after this you can stand alone."
"Are you quite sure you can do this without inconvenience?" asked
Rachel. "If you can, I will accept it. I begin to feel sure I shall be
able to develop a good business and what will prove valuable property to
you. It is an ambition that has quite filled my heart, and in devoting
myself to it I have found the first relief from despair--a despair that
possessed my soul whenever you were out of my sight. When I am not
thinking of gowns and garnitures, I am adding up all the money you have
sunk in this adventure, and planning how it may ultimately pay you six
per cent. over and above expenses. It does not sound a very heroic style
of gratitude, but it is practical, and I believe feasible."
"You are intensely real," said Katherine, "and I believe you will be
successful."
After discussing a few more points connected with the undertaking they
parted, and before Katherine dressed for dinner she wrote and despatched
the promised check.
De Burgh had throughout this period conducted himself with prudence and
discretion. He often called about tea-time, and frequently managed to
meet Katherine in the evening, but he carefully maintained a frank,
friendly tone, even when expressing in his natural brusque way his
admiration of herself or her dress. He talked pleasantly to Miss Payne,
and subscribed to many of Bertie's charities. Katherine was getting
quite used to him, though they disagreed and argued a good deal. She
sometimes tried to persuade herself that De Burgh had given up his
original pretentions and would be satisfied with platonics. But her
inner consciousness rejected the theory. Still, De Burgh came to be
recognized as a favored suitor by society, and the "mothers, the
cousins, and the aunts" of eligible young men shook their heads over the
mistake she was making.
Now, after mature consideration, Katherine determined to make the will
she had so long postponed, and bequeath all she possessed to Errington.
It was rather a formidable undertaking to announce this intention to Mr.
Newton, who would be sure to be surprised and interrogative, but she
would do it. Having, therefore, made an appointment with him, she
screwed up her courage and set out, accompanied by Miss Payne, who had
been laid up with a cold, and was venturing out for the first time. She
took advantage of Katherine's brougham to have a drive. The morning was
very fine, and they started early, early enough to allow Miss Payne to
leave the carriage and walk a little in the sun on "the Ladies' Mile."
As they proceeded slowly along, a well-appointed phaeton and pair of
fine steppers passed them. It was occupied by two gentlemen, one old,
gray, bent, and closely wrapped up; the other vigorous, dark, erect,
held the reins. He lifted his hat as he passed Katherine and her
companion with a swift, pleased smile.
"Who are those women?" asked the old gentleman, in a thick growl.
"Miss Liddell and her companion."
"By George! she looks like a gentlewoman. Turn, and let us pass them
again."
De Burgh obeyed, and slackened speed as he went by. At the sound of the
horses' tramp Katherine turned her head and gave De Burgh a bright smile
and gracious bow.
"She is wonderfully good-looking for an heiress," remarked Lord de
Burgh, who was, of course, the wrapped-up old gentleman. "I should say
something for you if you could show such a woman with sixty or seventy
thousand behind her as your wife. Why don't you go in and win? Don't let
the grass grow under your feet."
"It is easier said than done. Miss Liddell is not an ordinary sort of
young lady; she is not to be hurried. But I do not despair, by any
means, of winning her yet. If I press my suit too soon, I may lose my
chance. Trust me, it won't be my fault if I fail."
"I see you are in earnest," said the old man, "and I believe you'll
win."
De Burgh nodded, and whipped up his horses.
"That must be the old lord," said Miss Payne, as the phaeton passed out
of sight. "Mr. De Burgh seems in high favor. I cannot help liking him
myself. There is no nonsense about him, and he is quite a gentleman in
spite of his _brusquerie_."
"Yes, I think he is," said Katherine, thoughtfully, and walked on a
little while in silence. Then Miss Payne said she felt tired; so they
got into the carriage again and drove to Mr. Newton's office. There
Katherine alighted, and desired the driver to take Miss Payne home and
return for herself.
"And what is your business to-day?" asked Mr. Newton, when, after a
cordial greeting, his fair client had taken a chair beside his knee-hole
table.
"A rather serious matter, I assure you. I want to make my will."
"Very right, very right; it will not bring you any nearer your last hour
and it ought to be done."
The lawyer drew a sheet of paper to him, and prepared to "take
instructions."
"I should like to leave several small legacies," began Katherine, "and
have put down the names of those I wish to remember, with the amounts
each is to receive. If you read over this paper" (handing it to him) "we
can discuss----"
She was interrupted by a tap at the door which faced her, but was on
Newton's left. A high screen protected the old lawyer from draughts, and
prevented him from seeing who entered until the visitor stood before
him.
"Come in," said Newton, peevishly; and as a clerk presented himself,
added, "What do you want?"
"Beg pardon, sir. A gentleman downstairs wants to see you so very
particularly that he insisted on my coming up."
"Well, say I can't. I am particularly engaged. He must wait."
While he spoke Katherine saw a man cross the threshold, a tall, gaunt
man, slightly stooped. His clothes hung loosely on him, but they were
new and good. His hair was iron gray, and thin on his craggy temples.
Something about his watchful, stern eyes, his close-shut mouth, and
strong, clean-shaven jaw seemed not unfamiliar to Katherine, and she was
strangely struck and interested in his aspect. Mr. Newton's last words
evidently reached his ear, for he answered, in deep, harsh tones, "No,
Newton, I will _not_ wait!" and walked in, pausing exactly opposite the
lawyer, who grew grayly pale, and starting from his seat, leaned both
hands on the table, while he trembled visibly. "My God!" he exclaimed,
hoarsely; "George Liddell!"
"Ay, George Liddell! I thought you would know me."