A Crooked Path Part 8

"By George! Mrs. Liddell, I don't deserve such a character from _you_.

But"--addressing Katherine, who had simply looked at him with quiet, contemplative eyes--"I hope you have recovered from your fright of yesterday. I never saw eyes or cheeks express terror so eloquently."

"Yes, I was dreadfully frightened, and very, very grateful to the gentleman who saved poor Cecil. I hope he was not hurt?"

"Shall I tell him to come and report himself in person?"

"No, thank you."

"Wouldn't you like to thank him again? It might be a pleasant process to both parties--eh?"

Katherine smiled good-humoredly, while she thought, "What an idiot!"

"Katherine is a very serious young woman," said Mrs. Frederic--"quite too awfully in earnest; is always striving painfully to do her duty. She despises frivolities and never dreams of flirtation."

"This is an appalling description," said Ormonde. "Pray is it on principle you renounce flirtation?"

"For a much better reason," replied Katherine, wearily. "Because I have no one to flirt with."

"By Jove! there's a state of dest.i.tution! Why, it is a blot on society that you should be left lamenting."

"Yes; is it not melancholy?" replied Katherine, carelessly. "Ada, I am so tired I am sure you will excuse me if I go away to rest?"

"Before you go," said Ormonde, eagerly, "I have a request to make. A chum of mine, Sir James Brereton, and myself are going up the river on Thursday, with some friends of Mrs. Liddell's--a picnic affair. Your sister-in-law has promised to honor me with her company, and I earnestly hope _you_ will accompany her. I promise you shall be induced to rescind your anti-flirtation resolutions."

"Up the river?" repeated Katherine, with a wistful look, and paused. "On Thursday next? Thank you very much, but I'm engaged--quite particularly engaged."

"Nonsense, Katie!" cried her sister-in-law. "Where in the world are you going? You know you never have an engagement anywhere."

"Come, Miss Liddell, do not be cruel. We will have a very jolly day, and I'll try and persuade your hero of yesterday to meet you."

"I should like to go very much, but I really cannot. I thank you for thinking of me." She stood up, and, with a slight bow, said, "Good-morning," leaving the room before the stout Colonel could reach the door to open it.

"Phew! that was sharp, short, and decisive," said Ormonde.

"Yes, wasn't it? She is quite a character. Leave her to me if you wish her to go. I will manage it."

"Yes, do. She is something fresh, though she is not so handsome as I thought. I suspect there is a strong dash of the devil in her."

"I cannot say _I_ have seen much of it," said the young widow, frankly.

She was extremely shrewd in a small way, and had adopted an air of candid good-nature as best suited to her style and complexion. "Handsome or not, if you would like to have her at your party, I will try to persuade her to come."

"Thanks. What a little brick you are!" said Ormonde, admiringly. "No nonsense with you, or trying to keep a pretty girl out of it. I say, Mrs. Liddell, it must be an awful life for you, shut up in this stuffy suburban box?"

"Well, it is not cheerful; but I have no choice, so I just make the best of it," she returned, with as bright a smile as she could muster. "No use spoiling one's eyes or one's temper over the inevitable. Then I am really fond of my mother-in-law, poor soul! She would spoil me if she had the means; and Katherine--well, she isn't bad."

"By George! if you make your mother-in-law fond of you, you must be an angel incarnate."

"An angel!" echoed the little lady. "That would never do. No, no; it is because I am so desperately human I get on with them all."

"Delightfully human, you mean. No house could be dull with you in it.

There's nothing like pluck and good-humor in a woman."

"Well, Heaven knows I want both!"

"I am afraid I must be off," said the Colonel. "I am going to dine with Eversley, and he has a villa at Rochampton--quite a journey, you know.

Where is the little chap that was nearly run over?"

"Playing in the garden, very happy and very dirty. I dare not have him in--he always climbs up and hangs about me, for I have my best dress on!"--the last words in large capitals.

"A deuced becoming dress too; but it's not so fine as what you had on yesterday."

"No, of Course not; there are degrees of best dress. Yesterday's was my _very_ best go-to-luncheon dress, and must last me a whole year."

"A year! By Jove! And you always look well dressed! You are a wonderful woman! Now I must be off. Mrs. Burnett says she will send the carriage for you on Thursday. We drive down to Twickenham."

"Oh, thank you, Colonel Ormonde! I am sure I am indebted to you for that lift," said Mrs. Frederic, while she thought, "He might have driven me down himself."

"_Au revoir_, then. Always hard to tear myself away from such a charming little witch as you are."

Ormonde kissed her hand and departed.

"Jolly, plucky little woman," he thought, as he walked toward the Bayswater Road, looking for a hansom. "Just the sort to save a man trouble, and get full value out of a sovereign." He continued to muse on the wonderful discovery he had made of a woman perfectly planned, according to man's ideal--sweet, yielding, tenderly sympathetic, willing and capable to ward off all annoyances from her master, full of feeling for _his_ troubles, and not to be moved by her own to sad looks, unbecoming tears, or downcast spirits--all softness to him, all bristling sharpness to the rest of the world. "Such a woman would answer my purpose as well as a woman with money, and she is an uncommonly tempting morsel. But then those infernal boys! I am not going to provide for another fellow's brats, and they can't have more than sixty pounds between them from the fund! No; I must not make an a.s.s of myself, even for a pretty, clever woman, who has rather a hankering for myself, or I am much mistaken. That sister-in-law of hers is the making of an uncommon fine woman. There's a dash of a tragedy queen about her, but it will be good fun to play her against the widow."

And the widow, as she rang for the house-maid to remove the tea-things, indulged in a few speculations on her side. "He was evidently disappointed with Katherine. I am not surprised. She is looking ill, and she has _such_ ungracious manners! Of course she will come to this Richmond party when I ask her, and I must ask her. Ormonde is a good deal smitten with me, but he'll not lose his head. It is an awful thing to be poor and to have two boys. Oh, how dreadful it is to live in this horrible dull hole! I wonder if Colonel Ormonde will ever propose for me! He is very nice and pleasant, but he is awfully selfish. I hate selfishness. Perhaps if Mrs. Liddell would undertake to keep the little boys altogether it might make matters easier. Poor children! if I were only rich I would never wish to part with them; but who can hold out against poverty?"

The night which followed was sleepless to Mrs. Liddell. How could she close her eyes when so much depended on the visit she hoped to receive to-morrow? If this agent of John Liddell's was propitious, she might get breathing-time and be able to wait till her ma.n.u.script brought forth some fruit; if not--well she dared not think of the reverse. She listened to the soft, regular breathing of her daughter, who was wrapped in refreshing slumber, and thanked G.o.d for the quick forgetfulness of youth. It was like a fresh draught of life and hope to think of her courage and perseverance in finding out and affronting her miserly uncle. Good must come of it.

Day dawned bright and clear, and the little party met as usual at breakfast. Neither mother nor daughter had breathed a word of their hopes or fears to the pretty widow. Breakfast over, they all dispersed to their usual avocations. Katherine, downstairs, was consulting cook, and Mrs. Liddell was wearily sorting and tearing up papers, when the servant came into the study and said, "Please, 'm, there's a gentleman wanting you.'

"Where have you put him?" asked Mrs. Liddell, glancing at the card presented to her, on which was printed, "Mr. C. B. Newton, 26 Manchester Buildings."

"He is by the door, 'm."

"Oh, show him into the dining-room. Where is Mrs. Frederic?"

"Gone out, 'm."

"I will come directly," and Mrs. Liddell hastily locked a drawer and put a weight on her papers; "Tell Miss Liddell to come to me," she said as she pa.s.sed.

A short, thick-set man of more than middle age, slightly bald, with an upturned nose, quiet, watchful eyes of no particular color, and small sandy mutton-chop whiskers, was standing near the window when she entered. He made a quick bow, and stepped nearer "Mrs. Liddell?" he asked.

"Yes, I am Mrs. Liddell."

"I have called on the part of my client, Mr. John Liddell, of Legrave Crescent, to make certain inquiries. This note, which I received from him yesterday afternoon, will explain the object of my visit."

"Pray sit down, Mr. Newton"--taking a chair as she spoke, while she read the small, crabbed, tremulous characters written on the page presented to her. The note contained directions to call on Mrs. Liddell and ascertain if she really was the widow of his late brother; also what security she could offer for a small loan.

Her color rose faintly as she read.