England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
"May I ask where this Mr. Liddell resides?" asked Mr. Errington, joining
them, with a bow to the young widow.
"I really do not know, though he is my uncle-in-law. Pray do you know
him?"
"No; I know of him, but we are not personally acquainted."
"And is he not supposed to be very rich?"
"That I cannot say; but I have an idea that he is well off."
With another bow Errington retreated to say good-morning to his hostess.
"Well, whether your sister-in-law comes or not, I hope we are sure of
your charming self?" said Ormonde.
"Unless I am obliged to parade my boys for their grand-uncle's
inspection, I am sure to honor you."
"Of course everything must give away to _that_. I shall come and inquire
what news soon, if I may?"
"Oh yes; come when you like."
"They are all ready, Mrs. Liddell," remarked her hostess.
Mr. Kirby offered his arm, which was accepted with a smile, and the
little widow sailed away with the sense of riding on the crest of a
wave. The ladies were packed into the carriage, the polite man out of
livery whistled up a hansom for the two gentlemen, and the luncheon
party was over.
It was a weary day to Mrs. Liddell--the dowager Mrs. Liddell, as society
would have called her, only she had no dower. All she had inherited from
her husband was the remnant of his debts, which she had been struggling
for some years to pay off, and the care and maintenance of her boy and
girl, on her own slender funds.
At present the horizon looked very dark, and she almost regretted for
Katherine's sake that she had agreed to make a home for her son's widow
and children. Yet what would have become of them without it?
Partly to rouse herself from her fruitless reflections, partly to
relieve the house-maid, who had been doing some extra scrubbing, Mrs.
Liddell took her little grandsons to Kensington Gardens, and when they
had selected a place to play in she sat down with a book which she had
brought in the vain hope of getting out of herself. But her sight was
soon diverted from the page before her by the visions which came
thronging from the thickly peopled past.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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