England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
From the step she had voluntarily taken there was no retreat, nor, to do
her justice, was Katherine Liddell in the least disposed to turn back,
having once put her hand to the plough. Indeed the blessed
castle-building powers of youth disposed her to rear airy edifices as
regarded the future, which lightened the present gloom. Suppose John
Liddell were to soften toward her, and make her a handsome present
occasionally, or forgive this debt to her mother? What a delightful
reward this would be for her temporary servitude! But though Katherine
really amused herself with such fancies, they never crystallized into
hope. Hope still played round her mother's chance of success with the
publishers. Not that she fancied her dear mother a genius; on the
contrary, because she _was_ her mother, she probably undervalued her
work; but she knew that hundreds of stories printed and paid for lacked
the common-sense and humor of Mrs. Liddell's.
How ardently she longed to give her mother something of a rest after the
burden and heat of the day, which she had borne so well and so long--a
spell of peaceful twilight before the gray shadows of everlasting
darkness closed, or the brightness of eternal light broke upon her! Yes,
she would stand four-square against the steely terrors of John Liddell's
cold egotism and penuriousness, against the desolation and gloom of his
forbidding abode, the crushing sordidness of an existence reduced to the
merest straws of sustenance, provided she could lighten her mother's
load--perhaps secure her future ease; and she would do her task well,
thoroughly, keeping a steady heart and a bright face. Then, should the
tide ever turn, what deep draughts of pleasure she would drink!
Katherine was not socially ambitious; finery and grandeur as such did
not attract her; but real joys, beauty and gayety, the company of
pleasant people, _i.e._ people who suited _her_, graceful surroundings,
becoming clothes, and plenty of them, all were dear and delightful to
her.
Some of these things she had tasted when she lived with her mother in
the German and Italian towns where she had been chiefly educated; the
rest she was satisfied to imagine. Above all, she loved to charm those
with whom she associated--loved it in a half-unconscious way. Were it to
a poor blind beggar woman, or a little crossing sweeper, she would speak
as gently and modulate her voice as carefully as to the most brilliant
partner or the greatest lady. This might be tenderness of nature, or the
profound instinct to win liking and admiration. As yet it was quite
instinctive; but if hurt or offended she could feel resentment very
vividly, and was by no means too ready to forgive.
Unfortunately she started with a strong prejudice against her uncle, and
sometimes rehearsed in her own mind exceedingly fine speeches which she
would have liked to address to her miserly relative on the subject of
his cruelty to his son, his avarice, his egotism.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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