A Crooked Path | Page 8

tales. Then she
proposed conducting the young widow to the florist's, as the evening
grew cooler, and made herself agreeable by listening attentively to the
little woman's description of the luncheon party, and her repetition of
all the pretty things said to her by the various gentlemen present,
especially by Colonel Ormonde.
"Of course I do not mind their nonsense, but however my heart may
cling to dear Fred's memory, I must think of my precious boys," was
her conclusion. To which Katherine answered, "Of course," as she
would have answered any proposition, however wild, provided only
she could save her mother from worry, at least for that evening.
Next day was showery and dull. True to her resolution, Katherine put
her mother's lucubrations into their covers, and prepared to start on her
projected round.
"I am not sure I ought to let you go, Katie dear," said Mrs. Liddell, as
her daughter came into the study in her out-door dress. "It is rather a
wild goose chase. Why should you succeed for me when I have failed
for myself? Besides, personal interviews are of no avail. No editor will
take work that does not suit him, however interesting the applicant."

"Nevertheless I will go. I shall bring a new element into the business,
and I may be lucky! Why have you plunged into these horrid
accounts?" pointing to a pile of small books, and a sheaf of backs of
letters scribbled over with calculations. "This is not the way to cheer
yourself."
"My love, it is a change of occupation, at least, to revert to the old yet
ever new problem of life--how to extract thirty shillings from a
sovereign. I am trying to see where we can possibly retrench. What is
Ada doing?"
"She is decking the drawing-room and herself for the reception of
Colonel Ormonde, who is coming to afternoon tea."
"What, already?"
"She is quite excited, I assure you. Is it not soon to think of----"
"Do not judge her harshly. She is a woman not made to live alone. In
due time I shall be glad to see her happily married, for she will marry."
"Tell me, is that irreconcilable uncle of mine really still alive? How
long is it since you heard anything of him?"
"Oh, more than six or seven years. But I am sure he is alive. I should
have heard of his death. I suppose he is still living on in Camden
Town."
"Not a very agreeable quarter," returned Katherine, carelessly.
"Good-by, mother dear! Do not expect me to dinner. I can have
something whenever I come in."
Katherine walked briskly toward town, intending to save some of her
omnibus fare, for she had planned a long and daring expedition--an
undertaking which taxed all her courage. In truth, though she had never
known the ease or luxury of wealth, she had been most tenderly
brought up. Her mother had constantly shielded her from all the
roughness of life, and the deed she contemplated seemed to her mind an

almost desperate effort of independent action.
Through one of the very few sleepless nights she had ever experienced
she had thought out an idea which had flashed through her brain while
Mrs. Liddell was explaining her difficulties, and which she had
carefully kept to herself.
She saw clearly enough the hopelessness of their position; probably
with the intensity of youth she exaggerated it, which was scarcely
necessary, as a small rut is apt to widen into a bottomless pit if it
crosses the path of those who are living up to the utmost verge of a
narrow income. As she reviewed the endless instances of her mother's
self-abnegation which memory supplied--her cheerful industry, her
brave struggle to live like a gentlewoman on a pittance, her tender
thought for the welfare and happiness of her children--she felt she
could walk through a burning fiery furnace if by so doing she could
earn ease and repose for her mother's weary spirit.
"She is looking ill and worn," thought Katherine, "and years older. She
has never been the same since that attack of bronchitis last year. Ada
and the boys are too much for her, though they are dear little fellows;
but they are costly. If Ada would even give us twenty pounds a year
more it would be a great help."
The project Katherine had evolved through the night-watches was to
visit her uncle and ask him, face to face, for help! It is, she argued,
harder to say "no" than to write it; even if she failed she should know
her fate at once, and not have to endure the agony of waiting for a letter.
Nor, were she refused, need her mother ever know now she had
humiliated herself in the dust.
How her young