She did not altogether sympathize with him against Katharine. For many years she had felt the galling of his miserable meanness, and had many times suspected that he was by no means as poor as he chose to declare himself to be. CHAPTER IX. Mrs. Lauderdale went slowly upstairs, thinking over what she should say, as she climbed from one story to another. At the door she knocked softly, and Katharine’s voice bade her enter. Katharine was standing at the window, looking out, and did not turn round as her mother entered. The evening light was on the houses opposite, and the glow was gently sinking into the darker street. Katharine watched the horse-cars go by, and listened mechanically to the jingle of the bells, hardly conscious of either. “What is it?” she asked, as she heard the door close. Her voice had that peculiar reedy sound which comes of speaking through the closed teeth by the lips only. It seems to mean that the speaker is on the defensive and not to be trifled with. “Your father--Katharine--he’s so angry! He wanted me to speak to you.” “Oh--it’s you, mother?” The girl’s tone changed a very little, and she turned and came forward. “Well--I’m sorry,” she said, after a short pause. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.” Mrs. Lauderdale sat down in the one small arm-chair, by the toilet-table, and clasped her hands over her knee, leaning back, and looking up rather wistfully at Katharine. “I think--in a way--it can be helped,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, in a conciliatory manner. “If you would go downstairs now, and just say quietly that you’re sorry, you know. Just as you said it now. I’m sure he’d be willing to accept that as an apology.” “Apology?” Katharine laughed bitterly. “I--make an apology to him? No, mother--I won’t.” “You ought to--really,” objected Mrs. Lauderdale, earnestly. “Why, my dear child! Have you any idea of what you’ve been saying downstairs? Some of the things you said were dreadful.” “They were all true, and he knows it,” answered Katharine, stubbornly. She leaned against the chest of drawers, and looked down into her mother’s upturned face. “Oh, no! they weren’t all true, dear,” protested the latter. “You exaggerated very much. It’s quite possible that your father may have saved something in all these years--he’s so careful! But as for having a million, as you said--” “But, dear mother--there isn’t a doubt of it! I didn’t promise uncle Robert that I wouldn’t tell that--” “What? Did uncle Robert tell you?” “Yes! Of course! Did you suppose I was inventing?” “Well--not exactly. But I thought you might have heard some gossip--or something Jack Ralston said--” “Not at all. Uncle Robert told me that he knew it to be a positive fact--a million, at least, he said. And he’s quite as truthful as papa--” “More so,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, absently; “I mean,” she added, very quickly, with a frightened look, for she had not realized what she was saying--“I mean--quite as truthful. They’re both perfectly truthful--”