Mrs. Ormonde was awaiting Katherine in the hall, which was bright with lamps and fire-light; behind her were her two boys.
When Katherine had been duly welcomed. Mrs. Ormonde stood aside, and the children hesitated a moment. Cecil was so much grown, Katherine hardly knew him. He came forward with his natural assurance, and said, confidently: "How d'ye do, auntie? You have been a long time coming."
Charlie was more like what he had been, and less grown. He hesitated a moment, then darted to Katherine, and throwing his arms round her neck, clung to her lovingly. She was infinitely touched and delighted. How vividly the past came back to her!—the little dusty house at Bayswater, the homely establishment kept afloat by her dear mother's industry, the small study, and the dear weary face associated with it. How ardently she held the child to her heart! How thankfully she recognized that here was something to cherish and to live for!
"They may come with me to my room?" she said to her hostess.
"Oh, certainly!—only if you begin that sort of thing you will never be able to get rid of them."
"I will risk it," said Katherine, as she followed Mrs. Ormonde upstairs to a very comfortable room, where a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth.
"I am afraid you find it rather small, but I was obliged to give the best bedroom to Lady Alice—noblesse oblige, you know. I am sure you will like her, she is so gentle; I think her father was very glad to let her come, as she can see more of her fiance. They are not to be married till the autumn, so—Oh dear! there is the second bell. Cis, run away and tell Madeline to come and help your auntie to dress; and you too, Charlie; you had better go too."
"He may stay and help me to unpack."
"Why did you not bring your maid, dear? It is just like you to leave her behind; but we could have put her up; and you will miss her dreadfully."
"I do not think either of us has been so accustomed to the attentions of a maid as not to be able to do without one," returned Katherine, smiling.