The afternoons were much at her own disposal; and as she found a number of old books, some of which greatly interested her, she managed to accomplish a good deal of reading, and even did a little dreaming. Still, though time seemed to go so slowly, the weeks, on looking back, had flown fast.
The monotony was terrible; but a break was at hand which was not quite unexpected.
The day following the above conversation, Katherine had retired as usual after dinner to write to a German friend with whom she kept up a desultory correspondence; the day was warm, and her door being open, the unwonted sound of the front door-bell startled her.
"Who could it possibly be?" asked Katherine of herself. The next minute a familiar voice struck her ear, and she quickly descended to the front parlor.
There an appalling sight met her eyes. In the centre of the room, her back to the door, stood Mrs. Fred Liddell, a little boy in either hand—all three most carefully attired in their best garments, and making quite a pretty group.
Facing them, Mr. Liddell sat upright in his chair, his lean, claw-like hands grasping the arms, his eyes full of fierce astonishment.
"You see, my dear sir, as you have never invited me, I have ventured to come unasked to make your acquaintance, and to introduce my dear boys to you; for it is possible you have sent me a message by Katherine which she has forgotten to deliver; so I thought—" Thus far the pretty little widow had proceeded when the children, catching sight of their auntie, sprang upon her with a cry of delight.
"Who—who is this?" asked Mr. Liddell, compressing his thin lips and hissing out the words.
"My brother's widow, Mrs. Fred Liddell," returned Katherine, who was kissing and fondling her nephews.
"Did you invite her to come here?"