"Well, you see, it's nicer here by the river, and it's cheaper too; and—how's aunt Kate?"
"Your aunt Kate has got a stye in her eye."
"Dear me, I'm very sorry to hear it. And you, uncle?"
"Poorly, very poorly. I ought not to have got out of my bed to-day. One of my old attacks. My liver's never been the same since I caught that bad chill at your father's funeral."
Uncle James looked at Katherine severely, as if she had been to blame for the calamity. His feeling was natural. One way or another, the Havilands had been the cause of calamity in the family ever since they came into it. Family worship and the worship of the Family were different but equally indispensable forms of the one true religion. The stigma of schism, if not of atheism, attached to the Havilands in departing from the old traditions and forming a little sect by themselves. Mr. Pigott meant well by them; at any time he would have helped them substantially, in such a manner as he thought fit. But, one and all, the Havilands had refused to be benefited in any way but their own; their own way, in the Pigotts' opinion, being invariably a foolish one—"between you and me, sir, they hadn't a sound business head among them." As for Ted and Katherine, before the day when he had washed his hands of Ted in the office lavatory, uncle James had tried to play the part of an overruling Providence in their affairs, and the young infidels had signified their utter disbelief in him. Since then he had ceased to interfere with his creatures; and latterly his finger was only to be seen at times of marked crisis or disturbance, as in the arrangements for a marriage or a funeral.
An astounding piece of news had come to his ears, which was the reason of his present visitation. He hastened to the business in hand.
"What's this that I hear about Ted, eh?"
"I don't know," said Katherine, blushing violently.
"I'm told that he's taken up with some woman, nobody knows who, and that they're seen everywhere together——"
"'Who told you this?"