A Crooked Path Part 7

The Colonel had given so very highly colored a description of the young lady who was with the little boy so nearly run over on the previous morning that the pretty widow's jealousy was aroused.

In spite of her flightiness and love of pleasure she had a very keen sense of her own interest, and perceiving Colonel Ormonde's decided appreciation, she had made up her mind to marry him.

This, she felt, would be more easily designed than accomplished. Colonel Ormonde was an old soldier in every sense, and an old bachelor to boot, with an epicurean taste for good dinners and pretty women. He might sacrifice something for the first, but the latter were too plentiful and too come-at-able to be worth great cost. Still, it was generally believed he was matrimonially inclined, and Mrs. Fred thought she might have as good a chance as any one else, had she not been hampered with her two boys.

It would be too dreadful if Ormonde's fancy were caught by Katherine's bold eyes and big figure. So Mrs. Fred wished that her sister-in-law might not put in an appearance.

"She is not a bit like other girls," thought the little woman, as she finally shook the duster out of the open window and set herself to distribute the flowers she had bought the previous evening to the best advantage. "She has no dear friends, no acquaintances with whom she likes to stop and chatter; she never stays out, and I don't think she ever had the ghost of a lover. When _I_ was her age I had had a dozen, and I was married. Poor Fred! Heigho! I wish he had left me a little money, and I am sure I should never dream of giving him a successor. But for the sake of the dear boys I should never think of marrying! How cruel it is to be so poor, and to be with such unenterprising people! If Mrs. Liddell would only venture to make an appearance, and just risk a little, she might dispose of Kate and of me too. There _are_ men who might admire Kate, and there they go on s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g and scribbling. I wish my mother-in-law would write for some big magazine--_Blackwood_ or _Temple Bar_--or not write at all! That will do, I think. That is the only strong arm-chair in the house; it will stand nicely beside the sofa. Oh, have you come in already, children?"--as the two boys peeped in. "Couldn't Jane have kept you out a little longer! Don't attempt to come in here!"

"Jane had to come back to lay the cloth. Mamma, where is aunty?"

"She has not come in yet. Why, dear me, it is nearly one o'clock! Go and get off your boots, my darlings, and ask grandmamma when she expects aunty."

Mrs. Liddell did not know when Katherine might return, and, moreover, she was getting uneasy. She did not like to say much about her errand, for she knew her daughter-in-law thought but indifferently of her writings, and with an indescribable "cra.s.s" dislike of what she could not do herself, would have been rather pleased than otherwise to know that a ma.n.u.script had been rejected.

In looking over one of the drawers in her writing-table Mrs. Liddell had found that Katherine had left the shorter story behind. This rendered her prolonged absence less accountable, for she could have interviewed several publishers of three-volume novels in the time. The poor lady naturally feared that they must have refused even to look at her work, or Katherine would have returned.

When dinner was over, and four o'clock came, Mrs. Liddell's anxiety rose high; she could not bear her daughter-in-law's presence, and retired into her own den.

"Won't you stay and see Colonel Ormonde? He used to be quite friendly with poor Fred in India, and I should like him to see what a nice handsome mamma-in-law I have," said Mrs. Fred, caressingly: she rather liked her mother-in-law, and felt it was as well to be on affectionate terms with her.

"No, my dear; my head is not quite free from pain, and I want to give Katherine something to eat when she comes in; she will be very hungry.

Then I can see that the children do not get into any mischief in the garden."

The younger lady then went to pose herself with a dainty piece of fancy-work in the drawing-room, and the elder to sit at her writing-table, pen in hand, but not writing; only thinking round and round the circle of difficulties which hedged her in, and longing for the sight of her daughter's face.

At last it beamed upon her through the open door-window which led out on the stairway to the garden; her approach had been seen by her little nephews, who had admitted her through the back gate.

"You must not come in now, dears; I want to talk to grannie. If you keep away I will tell you a nice story in the evening."

"My dearest child, what has kept you? I have been uneasy; and how dreadfully tired you look!"

"I am tired, but that is nothing. I think, dear, I have a little good news for you."

"Come into the dining-room. I have some dinner for you, and we can talk quietly. Ada is expecting a visitor."

But Katherine could not eat until she told her adventures. First she described her interview with Mr. Channing.

"It is something certainly to have left my unfortunate MS. in his hands; still I dare not hope much from that," said Mrs. Liddell.

"Then, mother dear," resumed Katherine, "I ventured to do something for which I hope you will not be angry with me--I have found John Liddell! I have invaded his den; I have spoken to him; I have cooked a chop for him, as I used for you last winter; and though I have been sent empty away, I am not without hopes that he will help us out of our difficulties."

"Katie, dear, what _have_ you done?" cried her mother, aghast. "How did you manage--how did you dare?" Whereupon Katherine gave her mother a graphic account of the whole affair.

"It is a wonderful history," said Mrs. Liddell. "I feel half frightened; yet if Mr. Liddell's solicitor is an honest, respectable man, he will surely be on our side; at the same time, I am half afraid of falling into John Liddell's clutches. He has the character of being a relentless creditor: he will have his pound of flesh! If he gives this money as a loan, and I fail in paying the interest, he will take me by the throat as he would the greatest stranger."

"Why should you fail?" cried Katherine. "You only want time to succeed.

I am sure you will sell your books, and then we can pay princ.i.p.al and interest; besides, old Mr. Liddell could _not_ treat his brother's widow as he would a stranger."

"I am not so sure."

"And you are not angry with me for going to him?"

"No, dear love; I am proud of your courage. Had I known what you intended, I should have forbidden you. I should never have allowed you to run the risk of being insulted: it was too much for you. I wish I could shield you from all such trials, my Kate; but I cannot--I cannot."

The unwonted tears stood in her kind, faded eyes.

"Ah, mother, _you_ have borne the burden and heat of the day long enough alone; I must take my share now, and I a.s.sure you, after my adventures to-day, I feel quite equal to do so. I have been too long a heedless idler; I want to be a real help to you now. Do you think I have done any good?"

"Yes, certainly! but everything depends on this man who is coming to-morrow. Your poor father used to know Mr. Liddell's solicitor, and I think liked him; of course he may have a different one now. Still it is a gleam of hope; which is doubly sweet because _you_ brought it."

Katherine hastily pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and choked down the sob that would swell her throat. She was dreadfully tired, physically and mentally.

"Ada asked me for that money this morning as soon as you were gone. I told her I could not return it for a while, and she did not look pleased, naturally enough."

"I think she is very selfish," said Katherine.

"No, dear, only thoughtless, and younger than her years. She is always nice with me, and would be with you if you had more patience. You must remember that no character is stronger than its weakest part, and hers is--"

"Self," put in Katherine.

"No! love of admiration and pleasure," added her mother.

"Well," returned Katherine, good-humoredly, "they both are very nice."

Here the person under discussion came hastily into the room, in the crispest of lilac and white muslins, with a black sash and bows, and a rose at her waist, looking as fresh as if the heaviest atmosphere could not touch her.

"Oh, you have arrived, Katherine! I wish you would come and see Colonel Ormonde. He wants so much to speak to you!"

"But I do not want to speak to him. I don't want to see any one."

"Do come, Katie! I a.s.sure you you have made quite an impression; come and deepen it," cried Mrs. Frederic, with a persuasive smile, while she thought, "She is looking awfully bad and pale, and Katherine without color is nowhere; her eyes are red too.--Come, like a dear," she persisted, aloud, "unless you want to go up and beautify."

"No, I certainly do not," said Katherine, rising impatiently. "I will go with you for a minute or two, but I am too tired to talk."

"Your hair is in utter disorder," remarked her mother.

"It is no matter," returned Katherine, following her sister-in-law out of the room.

Her dress was by no means becoming. It was of thin black material, the remains of her last year's mourning; the white frill at her throat was crushed by the friction of her jacket, and some splashes on the skirt gave her a travel-stained aspect. But no disorder could hide the fine warm bronze brown of her abundant hair, nor disguise the shape of her brows and eyes, though the eyes themselves lost something of their color from the paleness of her cheeks; nor did her weariness detract from the charm of her delicate upturned chin.

"Here is my naughty sister-in-law, who has been wandering about all the morning alone, and making us quite uneasy."

"What! In search of further adventures--eh?" asked Colonel Ormonde, rising and making an elaborate bow. He spoke in a tone half paternal, half gallant, in right of which elderly gentlemen sometimes take liberties.

"I went to do a commission for my mother," said Katherine, indifferently.

"Ah! if we had a corps of such _commissionnaires_ as you are, we should spend our lives sending and receiving messages," returned the Colonel, with a laugh. He spoke in short authoritative sentences, with a loud harsh voice, and in what might be termed the "big bow-wow" style.

"You must not believe all Colonel Ormonde says," observed the fair widow, smiling and slightly shaking her head. "He is a very faithless man."