“With the Wrays?  No, thank you.  I never seem to get on with them; and if Colonel Ormonde happens to be there (and he might, for he is in town to-day), I should not care to be seen with them; they are not at all in society, you know.”

“True,” said Katherine, with perfect equanimity.  “Then, dear mother, do come.  Nothing takes you out of yourself so much as a good play.  I shall enjoy it more if you are with us.”

After a little discussion Mrs. Liddell agreed to go, and Mrs. Frederic retired to unpack, and to see what repairs were necessary, in a somewhat sulky mood.

The following morning Mrs. Liddell’s head was aching so severely that her daughter would not allow her to get up.  She therefore gave her sister-in-law an early luncheon, and saw her set forth on her visit to Mr. Newton.  She was a little nervous about it; she wished Katherine to go with her, and yet she did not wish it.

She attired herself completely in black, and managed to give a mournful “distressed widow” aspect to her toilette:  the little woman was an artist in her way, so long as her subject was self and its advantages.  Then Katherine devoted herself to her mother, who had taken a chill.  It grieved her to see how the slightest indisposition preyed upon her strength.

The period of waiting was terribly long and wearing.  Had she, after all, committed herself to an ever-gnawing loss of self-respect to enrich another?  Katherine asked herself this question more than once.

She had refrained from troubling Mr. Newton with fruitless questions or impatient expressions, and her mother admired her forbearance.  But in truth Catherine hated to approach the subject of her possible inheritance, though she never faltered in her purpose of keeping the existence of her uncle’s will a profound secret.

Mrs. Frederic Liddell returned from her visit to the friendly lawyer rather sooner than Katherine expected.

The moment she entered the drawing-room, where the latter was dusting the few china and other ornaments, her countenance evinced unusual disturbance.

“I am sure,” she began, in a very high key, “if I had known what I was going to encounter, I should have stayed at home.  There’s no justice in this world for the widow and the fatherless.”

“I cannot believe that Mr. Newton could be rude or unkind!” exclaimed Katherine, much startled.

“I do not say he was,” returned Mrs. Fred, snappishly.  “But either he is a stupid old idiot, or he has been telling me abominable stories.  I don’t—­I can’t believe them!  Do you know he says he, they, all the old rogues together, believe that wretched miser had destroyed his will and died intestate, and that every penny will be yours; not a sou comes to the widow and children of the nephew.  It is preposterous.  It is the most monstrous injustice.  If it is law, an act of Parliament ought to be passed to—­to do away with it.  Fancy your having everything, and me, my boys and myself, dependent on you!”—­scornful emphasis on “you.”