A Crooked Path Part 70

"Thank you," he said, gently, and still held her hand; "you give me infinite pleasure. Now"--releasing her--"for my excuse. Among my poor father's papers were a few letters of very old date from John Liddell, in which was occasional mention of his boy. It struck me these might be a _modus operandi_, and enable me approach a difficult subject. I contrived to meet your cousin at Mr. Newton's, and he permitted me to call. I gave him the letters, and we became--not friends--but friendly at least." Here his face brightened. "We began to talk of you, and I saw that he was bitter and vindictive against you to an extraordinary degree. He grew communicative, and I was able to represent to him the cruelty and unreasonableness of his conduct. At last--only to-day--he suddenly exclaimed, 'How much of my money has that nice young lady made away with?' I could not, of course, give him any particulars, but having learned from himself that he had ama.s.sed a good deal of money himself, and that with the addition of _your_ fortune (I cannot help calling it yours) he would really be a man of wealth, I ventured to suggest that he should not demand the refunding of what you had used while in possession of the property, and showed him what a bad impression it would create in the minds of those among whom he evidently wishes to make a place for himself. He thought for a few moments, and then said he would consider the matter and consult his legal advisers before coming to a decision, adding that he did not understand how it was that they as well as myself were on your side. Then I left him, and I feel a strong impression that he will lay aside his worst intentions. I only trust he will spare whatever balance may stand to your credit with your banker."

"You have indeed done me a great service," cried Katherine, "If George Liddell does as you suggest I shall not be afraid to face the future. I shall surely be able to find some employment myself; then I need not importune Colonel Ormonde for my nephews."

"He will surely not leave them without means," cried Errington.

"I am not sure. They have no legal claim upon him, and he is very angry with me for causing such confusion, though--"

--"Though," interrupted Errington, "your only error was over-generosity."

"My _only_ error, Mr. Errington!"--casting down her eyes and interlacing her fingers nervously. "If he only knew!"

"But he does not; he never shall!" exclaimed Errington, with animation, drawing unconsciously nearer. "That is a secret between you and me. None shall ever know our secret. All I ask is that you will forgive me for my unfortunate precipitancy in destroying the means of saving you, which you had placed in my hands--that you will forgive me, and let me be your friend. It is so painful to see you shrink from me as you do."

"Can you wonder, guilty as I feel myself to be? But if you so far overlook my evil deeds as to think me worth your friendship, I am glad and grateful to accept it. As to forgiveness, what have I to forgive?--your haste to save me from the possibility of discovery?"

"Then," said Errington, who had gazed for a moment in silence on his companion, whose face was slightly turned from him, every line of her pliant figure, from the graceful drooping head to the point of her shoe peeping from under her soft gray dress, expressed a sort of pathetic humility, "will you give me some idea of your plans, if you have any?"

"They are very vague. I have a small income apart from my uncle's property. I earnestly hope it will be enough to educate the boys. Then I must try to find employment--something that will enable me to provide for myself. Miss Payne is already looking out for me. That is all I can think of."

"It is a tremendous undertaking for a young girl like you," said Errington, looking down in deep thought. "But I think I understand that the cruelest trial of all would be to part with the boys. Still it is not wise to allow Mrs. Ormonde to thrust her sons on you, though I never can believe that Ormonde could act so dastardly a part as to refuse to do his part in maintaining them. There, again, the fear of what society would say will do more than a sense of justice or honor. I don't believe Ormonde will dare refuse to contribute his quota to the support of his wife's sons."

"Perhaps not. I wish I could do without it. But though Ada was harsh and unreasonable to-day, I am sorry for her. It must be dreadful to be tied to a man who looks on you as a burden."

"She will manage him. Their natures are admirably suited. Neither is too exalted. And Mrs. Ormonde has established herself very firmly as mistress of Castleford and the Colonel."

"I hope so." There was a short silence. Then Errington said, in a low tone, looking kindly into her face, "I trust you do not feel too despondent as regards the future."

"Far from it," returned Katherine, with a brief bright smile. "If only I can bring up my dear boys without too great privations, and fit them to work their way in life! From my short experience I should say that riches can buy little true happiness. Extreme poverty is terrible and degrading. Nor can money alone confer any true joys."

"So I have found," said Errington, thoughtfully; "and I can see that to you too the finery and distractions which wealth gathers together are mere dust heaps."

There was a pause, broken by the appearance of Miss Payne, who had only just discovered that Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde had left, and was not aware that Katherine had another visitor. After a little further and somewhat desultory conversation Errington took leave; nor was Katherine sorry, for the presence of Miss Payne seemed to have set them as far apart as ever, and how near they had drawn for a few moments!

"So that is Mr. Errington!" said Miss Payne, when the door had closed upon him. "He has never been here before?" The tone was interrogative.

"Mr. Errington has some acquaintance with George Liddell," returned Katherine, "and has very kindly done his best to dissuade him from claiming the money I have expended."

"How very good of him! I am sure I trust he will succeed!" exclaimed Miss Payne. "Now tell me how did Colonel Ormonde and your sister-in-law behave?"

Whereupon Katherine recounted all that had been said. Many and cynical were Miss Payne's remarks on the occasion, but Katherine scarcely heard her. That Errington should take so deep an interest in her, should persist in wishing to be her friend, was infinitely sweet and consoling.

He was transparently true, and she did not doubt for a moment that he was sincere in all he said. Still she could not forget the sense of humiliation his presence always inflicted. It was always delightful to speak to him, and to hear him speak. What would she not give to be able to stand upright before him and dare to a.s.sert herself? How silent and dull and commonplace she must appear! not a bit natural or--She would think no more of him. Why was his face ever before her eyes? She would not be haunted in that way.

Here Bertie Payne's entrance created a diversion, which was most welcome. He was looking white and ill, as though suffering from some mental strain, Katherine observed, and then remembered that he had been very silent and grave of late; but he replied cheerfully to her inquiries, and exerted himself to do the agreeable during dinner, for which he staid.

Katherine almost hoped for a summons from Mr. Newton next day, also for some communication from Mrs. Ormonde, but none reached her. Still she possessed her soul in patience, fortified by the recollection of her interview with her new friend.

It was wet, and Katherine did not venture out, having a slight cold. She tried to read, to write, to play, but she could not give her attention to anything. It was an anxious crisis of her fate, and the sense of her isolation pressed upon her more heavily than ever. She really had no family ties. Friends were kind, but she had no claim on them or they on her. Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde had ceased to exist for her. How would her future life be colored? From consecutive thought she pa.s.sed to vague reverie, from which she was glad to be roused by the return of Miss Payne, who never staid in for any weather.

"Where do you think I have been?" asked Miss Payne, untying her bonnet strings as she sat down.

"How can I guess? Your wanderings are various."

"I went to see Mrs. Needham, and I am very glad I did. I found her just bursting with curiosity. All sorts of reports have got about respecting your cousin and your loss of fortune, and she was enchanted to get the whole truth from me. Besides, she has just been applied to by the friends of a girl only sixteen to find a proper chaperon. She is full of enthusiasm about us both, and begged me, and you too, to dine with her the day after to-morrow to meet a Miss Bradley, the relative or friend of the sixteen-year-old. We are to look at each other, and are supposed to be in total ignorance of each other's ident.i.ty. Mrs. Needham delights in small plots and transparent mysteries."

"And why am I to go?" asked Katherine, carelessly.

"To make a fourth, and talk to the hostess while I discourse with Miss Bradley."

"Very well; I will come."

"Any further news to-day?"

"Not a word; not a line."

CHAPTER XXVII.

A DINNER AT MRS. NEEDHAM'S.

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 s.p.a.ce in his columns for a weekly letter, and an introduction to a London _confrere_. 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 j.a.panese 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.

"A _partie carree_ of 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 circ.u.mstances 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, pa.s.sing 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.