A Crooked Path Part 46

Your advice will be of great value to me."

"Such as it is, I shall be glad to give it; though I do not suppose you'll take it unless it suits your wishes."

"Perhaps not," said Katherine, laughing; "but I think it will."

"She is going to marry some fortune-hunting scamp," thought Miss Payne.

"I was afraid no good would come of her visit to that little dressy dolly sister-in-law of hers." She only said, "Dinner will be ready in half an hour, and we shall be quite alone."

Then she went quickly down stairs to her brother, who was gazing out of the window, but not seeing what he looked at.

"You can't dine here to-day, Bertie," said Miss Payne, abruptly, as she entered the room.

"And why not?"

"Because she wants to have some confidential conversation with me after dinner, and we must be alone."

"Have you any idea what it will be about?"

"No; and I am astonished at your putting the question. You may come in after church to-morrow if you like."

"Thank you. I shall be rather late, as I am going to an open-air service beyond Whitechapel."

"Well, I do hope you'll get something to eat after. Are _you_ going to preach?"

"No. I seldom preach. I haven't the gift of eloquence."

"Which means you have a little common-sense left. Really, Gilbert, for a man of thirty-five, or nearly thirty-five, you are too credulous."

"It is my nature to be so," he returned, laughing. "Well, good-by to you. It is really unkind to turn me out in this unceremonious fashion."

So saying, with his usual sweet-tempered compliance he departed.

"What a good boy he is!" said Miss Payne to herself, looking at the grate, while by a dual brain action she made a brief calculation as to how much longer she must burn coal. "He ought to have been a girl. Why don't rich young women see that he is the very stuff to make a pleasant husband, instead of those monsters of strength and determination that fools of women make G.o.ds of, and themselves door mats for, and often find to be only big pumpkins after all?"

Miss Payne's antic.i.p.ations were of the gloomiest when, after their quickly despatched dinner, she settled herself between the fire and window with her favorite tatting, drawing up the knots with vicious energy. She opened proceedings by an interrogative "Well?" and closed her mouth with a snap.

"Well, my dear Miss Payne," began Katherine, who had settled herself comfortably in a corner of the sofa, "I have an important plan in my mind, and I want your co-operation. I should have written to you about it, only I waited to get Colonel Ormonde's consent."

"It's a man!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Miss Payne to herself.

"To begin: I was not at all satisfied with the boys when I first went to Castleford. They were not exactly neglected, but they were quite secluded. Mrs. Ormonde scarcely saw them, and their governess or attendant was not at all lady-like; she speaks with a London accent and misplaces her _h'_s; altogether she is not the sort of person I should have placed with the boys. Then the poor little fellows clung to me and monopolized me as if I had been their mother; they made me feel like one. Moreover, I seemed to see my own dear mother and hear her voice when they spoke to me. She loved them so much!"

Katherine paused suddenly, but almost immediately resumed: "The youngest, Charlie, is not yet seven, and is very delicate. He has had rather a sharp attack of bronchitis. I am very anxious about him. How I want to take them to the sea-side next month, and to keep them there all the summer, and I want your help to find a nice place. I know nothing of the English coast. More than this: I feel I could not get on without you, so you must come with us. Suppose, dear Miss Payne, we take a house with a garden near the sea, and you let this one? I will gladly pay all extra cost, while our original agreement, as far as I myself am concerned, shall hold good."

Miss Payne listened attentively to this long speech, the expression of her countenance relaxing; but she did not reply at once.

"I think," she said, after a moment's thought, "that you are exceedingly liberal, but I am not sure you are wise. As far as I am concerned, I should like your plan very much. I do not profess to be fond of children, but I dare say these little boys would not interfere with me.

As regards yourself, if you keep the children for the whole summer, it is possible Mrs. Ormonde might be inclined to leave them with you altogether, and this would create a burden for you--a burden you are by no means called upon to bear. It is a dangerous experiment."

"Not to me," returned Katherine, thoughtfully. "In fact it is a consummation for which I devoutly wish. I should like to adopt my nephews."

"That would certainly be foolish. It would not be kind to the children, Katherine (as you wish me to call you). In the course of a year or two you will marry, and then the creatures who had learned to love you and look on you as a mother would be again motherless. Do not take them from their natural guardian."

"What you say is very reasonable. You cannot know how certain I feel that I shall _not_ marry. However, let us leave all that to arrange itself in the future; let us think of the present. Colonel and Mrs.

Ormonde are coming up to town, for two or three months, in May, and I do not like the idea of Cis and Charlie being left behind; so will you help me, my dear Miss Payne? Shall you mind a spring and summer in some quiet sea-side place?"

Again Miss Payne reflected before she spoke. "I should rather like it: and your idea of letting this house is a good one. Yes, I shall be happy to a.s.sist you as far as I can. The first question is, where shall we go?"

"That, I am sure, _you_ know best."

An interesting disquisition ensued. Miss Payne rejected Bournemouth, Weymouth, Worthing, Brighton, and Folkestone, for what seemed to Katherine sufficient reason, and finally recommended Sandbourne, a quiet and little-known nook on the Dorsetshire coast, as being mild but not relaxing, not too near nor too far from town, and possessing fine sands, while the country round was less bare and flat than what usually lies near the coast.

Finally the "friends in council" decided to go down and look at the place. "For," observed Miss Payne, "if we are to go away the beginning of next month, we have little more than a fortnight before us."

"By all means," cried Katherine, starting up. "Let us go to-morrow; we might 'do' the place in a day, and come back the next. You are really a dear, to fall into my views so readily."

"To-morrow? Oh! that's a little too fast; the day after, if you like.

Now I wish you would look at these cards; they have all been left for you in the last few days."

Katherine took and looked over them with some running comments. "Mrs.

Tracy! I shall be quite glad to see them again; they were always so kind and pleasant. Lady Mary Vincent! I did not think she would call so soon; I think I must go and see her to-morrow. I rather like her niece, Lady Alice Mordaunt; she is a nice, gentle girl. She is to be married very soon to a man who interested me a good deal; such a thoughtful, clever man, but rather provokingly composed and perfect--a sort of person who never makes a mistake."

"He must be a remarkable person," said Miss Payne.

"He will soon be in Parliament, and has some of the qualities which make a statesman, I imagine. I shall watch his progress." Here Katherine took up a card, and while she read the inscription, "John Fitzstephen de Burgh," a slight smile crept round her lips. "I had no idea _he_ was in town, or that he would take the trouble of calling on me so soon. I thought he was too utterly offended."

"Why?" asked Miss Payne, looking at her curiously.

"He is rather ill-tempered, I fancy, and he was vexed because I preferred staying with Charlie to going out with him: he offered to teach me how to drive; so I believe, like the rich young man in the gospel, he went away in desperation."

"Hum! Is _he_ a rich young man?"

"He is not young, and I am not sure about his being rich. He has a hunting-lodge and horses, yet I don't fancy he is rich. He is a sort of relation of the Ormondes."

"I suspect he is a spendthrift, and would like _your_ money."

"Oh, very likely; but, my dear Miss Payne, you need not warn me; I am quite sufficiently inclined to believe that the men who show me attention are thinking more of what I have than what _I_ am. Believe me it is not an agreeable frame of mind. Mr. De Burgh is a strange sort of character. He amuses me; he is not a bit like a modern man. He doesn't seem to think it worth while to conceal what he feels or thinks. There is an odd well-bred roughness about him, if I may use such an expression; but I greatly prefer him to Colonel Ormonde."

"Oh, you do? Colonel Ormonde is just an average man," added Miss Payne.

"I should hope the general average is higher; but I must not be ill-natured. He has always been very kind to me."

This was a pleasant interlude to Katherine. She had succeeded in hushing her heart to rest for a while, in banishing the thoughts which had long tormented her. Nothing had comforted and satisfied her as did this project of adopting her nephews. It is true she had not yet announced it, but in her own mind she resolved that once they were under her wing, she would not let them go again, unless indeed something quite unforeseen occurred; nor did she antic.i.p.ate any difficulties with their mother. She would thus secure a natural legitimate interest in life, and make a home, which to a girl of her disposition was essential. Yet she knew well that in renouncing the idea of marriage she was denying one of the strongest necessities of her nature. The love and companionship of a man in whom she believed, for whom she could be ambitious, who would link her with the life and movement of the outer world, who would be the complement of her own being, was a dream of delight. Not that she felt in the least unable to stand alone, or fancied she was too delicate to take care of herself, but life without the love of another self could never be full and perfect. She was too true a woman not to value deeply the tenderness of a man; yet she had firmly resolved in justice to herself, in fairness to any possible husband, to renounce that crown of woman's existence. It was the only atonement she could make. Well, at least her loving care of these dear little boys, who were in point of fact motherless, would in some degree expiate her evil deed, and would keep her heart warm and her mind healthy.

[**extra s.p.a.ce]

Possessed of the true magic, "money," obstacles faded away. The expedition to Sandbourne was most successful. Katherine was brighter than Miss Payne had ever seen her before. The day was sunny, the place looked cheerful and picturesque. It lay under a wooded hill, ending in a bold rocky point, which sheltered it and a wide bay from the easterly winds. A splendid stretch of golden sands offered a playground for the racing waves, and an old tower crowned an islet near the opposite point of the land, which there lay low, and was covered with gorse and heather.

There was an objectionable row of lodging-houses, against which must be entered a low, red-brick, ivy-grown inn, old-fashioned, picturesque, and comfortable. One or two villas stood in their own grounds but were occupied, and one, evidently older was shut up.