"Now I must bid you good-by. I am sure I am very glad you are so comfortable. I am going back to Castleford to-morrow, or I should call again. You are going to be Lucky Katherine, after all; I am sure you are;" and with many sweet words she disappeared.

"Lucky," repeated Katherine, as she returned to her task, "mine has been strange luck."

Despite Mrs. Ormonde's a.s.surances that De Burgh had quite forgotten her, the news that he was once more in town disturbed Katherine. Unless some new fancy had driven her out of his head, she felt sure that his first step in the new and independent existence on which he had entered would be to seek her out and renew the offer he had twice made before. Money or no money, position, circ.u.mstances, all were but a feather-weight compared to the imperative necessity of having his own way.

It would be very painful to be obliged to refuse him again, for, in spite of her grave disapprobation of him in many ways, she liked him, and had a certain degree of confidence in him. There were the possibilities of a good character even in his faults, and it grieved her to be obliged to pain him.

"After all, I may be troubling myself about a vain image; it is more than a month since I saw him. He is now a wealthy peer, and it is impossible to say how circ.u.mstances may have changed him."

When Mrs. Needham had dressed for the dinner which was to precede Madam Caravicelli's reception, Katherine put on her bonnet and cloak and set off to spend a couple of hours with Rachel Trant, not only to avoid a lonely evening, but to change the current of her thoughts--loneliness and thought being her greatest enemies at present.

She had grown quite accustomed to make her way by omnibus, and as the days grew longer and the weather finer, she hoped to be able to walk across Campden Hill, not only shortening the distance but saving the fare. A visit to Rachel amused Katherine and drew her out of herself more than anything; the details of the business and management of property which she felt was her own had a large amount of interest--real, living interest. The state of the books, the increase of custom, the addition to the small capital which Rachel was gradually acc.u.mulating--all these were subjects not easily exhausted. Both partners agreed that their great object, now that the undertaking was beginning to maintain itself, was to lay by all they could, for of course bad debts and bad times would come.

"It is a great satisfaction to think that though people may do without books or pictures or music, they must wear clothes; and if you fit well, and are punctual, you are certain to have customers. Of course if you give credit you must charge high; people are beginning to see that now.

You cannot get ready money in the dressmaking trade except for those costumes you give for a certain fixed price; but I stand out for quarterly accounts."

"And do you find no difficulty in getting them paid?"

"Not much; you see, I deduct five per cent. for punctual payment. Every one tries to save that five per cent. But talking of these things has put a curious incident out of my head, which I was longing to tell you.

You remember among my first customers were Mrs. Fairchild and her daughters. They keep a very high cla.s.s ladies' school in Inverness Terrace, and have been excellent customers. Yesterday Miss Fairchild called and said that she wanted an entire outfit for a little girl of ten or eleven, who was to be with them. They did not wish for anything fine or showy; at the same time, cost was no object. I was to furnish everything, to save time. This morning they brought the child to be fitted; she is very tall and thin, but lithe and supple, with dark hair, and large, bright, dark-brown eyes. She will be very handsome. I could not quite make her out; she is not an ordinary gentlewoman, nor is she the very least vulgar or common. She gives me more the idea of a wild thing not quite tamed. When all was settled I was told to address the account to Mr. George Liddell, Grosvenor Hotel."

"Why, it must be my cousin George!" cried Katherine. "How strange that in this huge town they should fix on you amongst the thousands of dressmakers! You must make my little cousin look very smart, Rachel."

"She is not little. She is wonderfully mature for ten years old, something like a panther."

"I should like to see her. I believe she is a great idol with her father. I wish," added Katherine, after a pause, "he were not so unreasonably prejudiced against me. You may think me weak, Rachel, but I have a sort of yearning for family ties."

"Why should I think you weak? It is a natural and I suppose a healthy feeling. _I_ don't understand it myself because I never had any.

Isolation is my second nature. The only human being that ever treated me with tenderness and loyal friendship is yourself, and what you have been to me, what I feel toward you, none can know, for I can never tell."

"Dear Rachel! How glad I am to have been of use to you! And you amply repay me, you are looking so much better. Tell me, are you not feeling content and happy?"

Rachel smiled, a smile somewhat grim in spite of the soft lips it parted. "I am resigned, and I have found an object to live for, and you know what an improvement that is compared to the condition you found me in. But I don't think I am really any more in love with life now than I was then. However, I am more mistress of myself." She paused, and her face grew very grave as she leaned back in her chair, her arm and small hand, closely shut, resting on the table beside her.

"All the minute details, the thought and anxiety, my business, or rather our business, requires an enormous help--it is such a boon to be too weary at night-time to think! But _no_ amount of work, of care, can quite shut out the light of other days. It is no doubt wrong, immoral, unworthy of a reformed outcast, but _if_ my real heart's desire could be fulfilled, I would live over again those few months of exquisite happiness, and die before waking to the terrible reality of my insignificance in the sight of him who was more than life to me--die while I was still something to be missed, to be regretted. He would have tired of me had I been his wife, and that would have been as terrible as my present lot--even more, for I must have seen his weariness day by day, and no amount of social esteem would have consoled me. As it is, my real self seems to have died, and this creature"--striking her breast--"was a cunningly contrived machine, that can work, and understand, but, save for one friend, cannot feel. I do not even look back to _him_ with any regretful tenderness. I do not love him--that is dead. I do not hate him--I have no right. He did not deceive me; I voluntarily overstepped the line which separates the reputable and disreputable; as long as I was loved and cherished I never felt as if I had done wrong. I never felt humiliation when I was with him. When he grew tired of me he could not help it; he never did try to resist any whim or pa.s.sion. But better, stronger men cannot hold the wavering will-o'-the-wisp they call 'love'; and once it flickers out, it cannot be relighted. No, I have no one to blame; I can only resign myself to the bitterest, cruelest fate that can befall a woman--to be loved and eagerly sought, won, and adored for a brief hour, then thrown carelessly aside--a mere plaything, unworthy of serious thought. Ah, I have forgotten my resolution not to talk of myself to you. It is a weakness; but your kind eyes melt my heart. Now I will close it up--I will think only of the task I have set myself, to make a little fortune for you, a reputation for my own establishment--not a very grand ambition, but it does to keep the machine going; and I am growing stronger every day, with a strange force that surprises myself. I fear nothing and no one. I think my affection for you, dear, is the only thing which keeps me human. Now tell me, are you still comfortable with Mrs. Needham?"

The tears stood in Katherine's eyes as she listened to this stern wail of a bruised spirit, but with instinctive wisdom she refrained from uttering fruitless expressions of sympathy. She would not encourage Rachel to dwell on the hateful subject; she only replied by pressing her friend's hand in silence, and she began to speak of Mrs. Ormonde's visit, and succeeded in making Rachel laugh at the little woman's description of the means she adopted of reducing Colonel Ormonde to reason.

"Real generosity and unselfishness is very rare," said Rachel. "The meanness and narrowness of men are amazing--and of women too; but somehow one expects more from the strength of a man."

"When men are good they are very good," said Kate, reflectively. "But the only two I have seen much of are not pleasant specimens--my uncle, John Liddell, and Colonel Ormonde. Then against them I must balance Bertie Payne, who is good enough for two."

"He is indeed! I owe him a debt I can never repay, for he brought you to me. I wish you could reward him as he would wish."

"I am not sure that he has any wishes on the subject," said Katherine, her color rising. "He thinks I am too unG.o.dly to be eligible for the helpmeet of a true believer. Ah, indeed I am not half good enough for such a man!"

CHAPTER XXIX.

DE BURGH AGAIN.

That Rachel Trant should have drifted into communication George Liddell seemed a most whimsical turn of the wheel of fortune to Katherine, and she thought much of it.

Would it lead to any reconciliation between herself and her strange, unreasonable, half-savage kinsman? She fancied she could interest herself in his daughter, and towards himself she felt no enmity; rather a mild description of curiosity. Why should they not be on friendly terms?

But this and other subjects of thought were swallowed up in the antic.i.p.ated pain of removing her nephews from their school at Sandbourne, where they had been so happy and done so well. Miss Payne's friendly offer to take them in for a week or two had relieved Katherine of a difficulty; and Mrs. Needham was most considerate in promising to give her ample time to prepare them for their new school.

What a difference, poor Katherine thought, between the present and the past! quite as great as between the price of Sandbourne and Wandsworth.

There was a certain rough and ready tone about the latter establishment which distressed her; yet the school-master's wife seemed a kindly, motherly woman, and the urchins she saw running about the playground looked ruddy and happy enough. It was the best of the cheaper schools she had seen, and to Dr. Paynter's care she resolved to commit them. As Wandsworth was within an easy distance, she could often go to see them.

Another matter kept her somewhat on the _qui vive_. In spite of Mrs.

Ormonde's a.s.surance that De Burgh had forgotten her, Katherine had a strong idea that she had not seen the last of him.

Though Mrs. Needham's wide circle of acquaintances included many men and women of rank, she knew nothing of the set to which De Burgh belonged.

Those of his cla.s.s, admitted within the hospitable gate of the Shrubberies, were usually persons of literary, artistic, or dramatic leanings and connections, of which he was quite innocent.

It was a day or two after Katherine's last interview with Rachel Trant, and Mrs. Needham was "at home" in a more formal way than usual.

Katherine was a.s.sisting her chief in receiving, when, in the tea-room, she was accosted by Errington. "Have you had tea yourself?" he asked, with his grave, sweet smile.

"Oh yes! long ago."

"Then, Miss Liddell, indulge me in a little talk. It is so long since I have had a word with you! It seems that since we agreed to be fast friends, founding our friendship on the injuries we have done each other, that we have drifted apart more than ever. Pray do not turn away with that distressed look. I am so unfortunate in being always a.s.sociated with painful ideas in your mind."

"Indeed you are not. All the good of my present life I owe to you," and she raised her soft brown eyes, full of tender grat.i.tude, to his. It was a glance that might have warmed any man's heart, and Errington's answer was:

"Come, then, and let us exchange confidences," the crowd round the door at that moment obliging him, as it seemed to her, to hold her arm very close to his side.

At the end of the hall, which was little more than a pa.s.sage, was a door sheltered by a large porch. The door had been removed, and the porch turned into a charming nook, with draperies, plants, colored lamps, and comfortable seats. Here Errington and Katherine established themselves.

"First," he began, "tell me, how do you fare at Mrs. Needham's hands? I am glad to see that you seem quite at home; and if I may be allowed to say it, you bear up bravely under the buffets of unkindly fortune."

"I have no right to complain," returned Katherine. "As to Mrs. Needham, were I her younger sister she could not be kinder. I think the great advantage of the semi-Bohemian set to which she belongs, is that among them there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, for all are one in our common human nature. Were I to go down into the kitchen and cook the dinner, it would not put me at any disadvantage with my good friend. I should have only to wash my hands and don my best frock, and in the drawing-room I should be as much the daughter of the house as ever."

Errington laughed. There was a happy sound in his laugh. "You describe our kind hostess well. Such women are the salt of the social earth. And your 'dear boys.' How and where are they?"

"Ah! that is a trial. I go down to Sandbourne the day after to-morrow, to take them from that delightful school, and place them in a far different establishment."

"Ha! Does Mrs. Ormonde go with you?"

"Mrs. Ormonde? Oh no. You know--" she hesitated. "Well, you see, Colonel Ormonde is exceedingly indignant with me because I have lost my fortune, and I fancy he does not approve of Ada's having anything to do with me.

Besides--" She paused, not liking to betray too much of the family politics. "They have agreed to give the boys over to me."

"I know. I paid Mr. Newton a long visit the other day, and he told me--perhaps more than you would like."