To wait patiently for that which you know will be painful is torture of no mean order. It was somewhat curtailed for Katherine on that memorable day, for Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde arrived half an hour sooner than she expected. They had driven direct from the station to Wilton Street, and Katherine saw at a glance that both were greatly disturbed. "Katherine, what is the meaning of your dreadful letter?" cried Mrs. Ormonde, without any previous greeting, while the Colonel barked a gruff "How d'ye do?" "My letter, Ada, I am sorry to say, meant what it said," returned Katherine, sadly. "Do sit down, and let us discuss what is best to be done." "What can be done?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, bursting into tears. "For God's sake, don't let us have tears and nonsense," said Colonel Ormonde, roughly. "Tell me, Katherine, is it possible Newton means to give in to this impostor? Why does he not demand proper proof, and throw the whole business into chancery?" "I am sure Mr. Newton could not doubt George Liddell's story. He could not go back from his own involuntary recognition, nor could I pretend to doubt what I believe is true." "Pooh! that is high-flown bosh. You need not say what you do or do not believe. All you have to do is to throw the onus of proof on this fellow." "It is all too dreadful," said Mrs. Ormonde, in tearful tones. "To think that you will allow yourself to be robbed, and permit the dear boys to be reduced to beggary, for a mere crochet--it is too bad. I never will believe this horrid man is the person he represents himself to be; never." "I wish you would go and speak to Mr. Newton. He would explain the folly of resisting." "And how do you know that he is not bribed?" returned Mrs. Ormonde, with a little sob. "Every one knows what dreadful wretches lawyers are. And though I dare say you meant well, Katherine, but having induced us to believe you would provide for the boys, it is a little hard--indeed very hard--on Colonel Ormonde to have them thrown back on his hands, and it is really your duty to do something to relieve us." "Back on my hands!" echoed the Colonel. "I'll not take them back. Why should I? I have been completely swindled in the whole business. I am the last man to support another fellow's brats. Why didn't that old lawyer of yours ascertain whether your uncle's son was dead or alive before he let you pounce upon the property and play Lady Bountiful with what did not belong to you?" And Colonel Ormonde paced the room in a fury, all chivalrous tradition melting away in the fierce heat of disappointed greed.