Day dawned bright and clear, and the little party met as usual at breakfast. Neither mother nor daughter had breathed a word of their hopes or fears to the pretty widow. Breakfast over, they all dispersed to their usual avocations. Katherine, downstairs, was consulting cook, and Mrs. Liddell was wearily sorting and tearing up papers, when the servant came into the study and said, "Please, 'm, there's a gentleman wanting you.'
"Where have you put him?" asked Mrs. Liddell, glancing at the card presented to her, on which was printed, "Mr. C. B. Newton, 26 Manchester Buildings."
"He is by the door, 'm."
"Oh, show him into the dining-room. Where is Mrs. Frederic?"
"Gone out, 'm."
"I will come directly," and Mrs. Liddell hastily locked a drawer and put a weight on her papers; "Tell Miss Liddell to come to me," she said as she passed.
A short, thick-set man of more than middle age, slightly bald, with an upturned nose, quiet, watchful eyes of no particular color, and small sandy mutton-chop whiskers, was standing near the window when she entered. He made a quick bow, and stepped nearer "Mrs. Liddell?" he asked.
"Yes, I am Mrs. Liddell."
"I have called on the part of my client, Mr. John Liddell, of Legrave Crescent, to make certain inquiries. This note, which I received from him yesterday afternoon, will explain the object of my visit."
"Pray sit down, Mr. Newton"—taking a chair as she spoke, while she read the small, crabbed, tremulous characters written on the page presented to her. The note contained directions to call on Mrs. Liddell and ascertain if she really was the widow of his late brother; also what security she could offer for a small loan.