"You shall see. If I can have a little chat with you every week I shall be able for a good deal. Then, remember, the book still remains. When that succeeds we may snap our fingers at rich uncles."
"When that time comes," interrupted her mother, "you will be tied to the poor old miser by habit and the subtle claims which pity and comprehension weave round the sympathetic."
"Oh, if I ever grow to like him it will simplify matters very much. I almost hope I may, but it is not likely. How strange it will be to live in a different house from you! How dreadfully the boys will tease you when I am away! Come; suppose we go and see the Cheerful Visitor—the editor, I mean—before we return, and then we can say we have been to a publisher. I really do not think Ada knows the difference between an editor and a publisher."
"Very likely; nor would you, probably, if you had not a mother who scribbles weak fiction."
"It is a great deal better than much that is published and paid for," said Katherine, emphatically.
"Ah! Kate, when money has long been scarce you get into a bad habit of estimating things merely at their market value. However, let us visit the Cheerful Visitor on our homeward way. Of course we must tell Ada of the impending change, but we need not explain too much."
The journey back was less silent. Both mother and daughter were oppressed by the task undertaken by the latter. But Katherine was successful in concealing the dismay with which she contemplated a residence with John Liddell. "Whatever happens, I must not seem afraid of him or be afraid of him," she thought, with instinctive perception. "I will try to do what is just and right, and leave the rest to Providence. It must be a great comfort to have faith—to believe that if you do the right thing you will be directed and assisted by God. What strength it would give! But I haven't faith. I cannot believe that natural laws will ever be changed for me, and I know that good, honest, industrious creatures die of hunger every day. No matter. Do rightly, come what may, is the motto of every true soul. I don't suppose I shall melt this old man's stony heart, but I will do my best for him. His has been a miserable life in spite of his money. There is so much money cannot buy!"
"How dreadfully late you are!" said Mrs. Frederic, querulously, when they reached home. "I really could not keep the children waiting for you, so we have finished dinner; but Maria is keeping the mutton as hot as she can for you. Dear me! how sick I am of roast mutton! but I suppose it is cheap"—contemptuously.
"Poor dear! it shall have something nice to-morrow," returned Mrs. Liddell, with her usual strong good temper.
"I suppose you are too tired, Katherine, to come with me. The band plays in Kensington Gardens to-day, and I wanted so much to go and hear it."