"Every body thought her rich, because she spent a good deal of money; but hers was only income. Our poor aunt was no great economist—she made no savings."
"Well; and your mother? I can not understand it. No; I can not understand it," Catherine kept repeating. "So horrible! dear, dear Lettice—and your shawl is quite wet, and so is your bonnet, poor, dear girl. Why did you not put up your umbrella?"
"For a very good reason, dear Miss Melwyn; because I do not possess one."
"Call me Catherine, won't you? or I will not speak to you again." But Mrs. Danvers's inquiring looks seemed now to deserve a little attention. She seemed impatient to have the enigma of this strange scene solved. Catherine caught her eye, and, turning from her friend, with whom she had been so much absorbed as to forget every thing else, she said:
"Lettice Arnold is a clergyman's daughter, ma'am."
"I began to think something of that sort," said Mrs. Danvers; "but, my dear young lady, what can have brought you to this terrible state of destitution?"
"Misfortune upon misfortune, madam. My father was, indeed, a clergyman, and held the little vicarage of Castle Rising. There Catherine," looking affectionately up at her, "met me upon her visits to her aunt, Mrs. Montague."
"We have known each other from children," put in Catherine.
The door opened, and Reynolds appeared—
"The cab is waiting, if you please, Miss Melwyn."