"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 ass 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 manuscript 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 God 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 passed.
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.
"You must not regard the plainness of business phraseology," said the visitor, in dry, precise tones. "My client means no offence."
"Nor do I mean to take any," she replied, handing him back the note. "Pray how am I to prove my own identity?"
"It would not, I suppose, be very difficult; but, as it happens, I can be your witness. I quite well remember seeing you with Mr. Liddell, your late husband, some sixteen or seventeen years ago."
"Indeed! I am surprised that I do not recall you. I generally have a good memory, but—"
"I am not surprised. I was unhappily the bearer of an unpleasant message, which excited Mr. Liddell considerably, and your attention was absorbed by your efforts to calm him."
"I remember," said Mrs. Liddell, coloring deeply. "It was a trying time."
"We will consider this inquiry answered. As regards the loan"—the door opening to admit Katherine interrupted him; he rose and bowed formally when her mother named her; then he resumed his sentence—"as regards the loan, I must first know the amount it is proposed to borrow, in order to judge of the security offered."
"I asked my uncle for thirty pounds, but I should be very glad if he would lend us forty."
"No, Katie; I dare not take so much," interrupted her mother. "Remember, it must be repaid; and," addressing the lawyer, she added, "the only security I have to offer is the furniture of this house—furniture of the simplest, as you will see."
"Have you seen Mr. Liddell?" asked Mr. Newton, a slight expression of surprise passing over his face.
"My daughter has," said Mrs. Liddell.
"Yes; I ventured to visit him, because"—she hesitated, and then went on, frankly—"because we wanted this money very much indeed; and I found him in a sad condition." Katherine went on to describe the scene of yesterday, dwelling on the desolate position of the old man. "I felt frightened to leave him alone; he seems weak, and unfit to take care of himself. I hope, Mr. Newton, you will go to him and induce him to have a proper servant. I am going, because I promised in any case to go; and I must give the little servant's mother the half-crown I promised her."
"I have been somewhat uneasy respecting Mr. Liddell. For a considerable time I had my doubts of his cook housekeeper; but he is a man of strong