Mrs. Needham was a very important at personage in her own estimation, and very popular with a large circle of acquaintances. Most of them thought she was a widow, and only a few old friends were aware that away in a distant colony Needham masculine was hiding his diminished head from creditors of various kinds and penalties of many descriptions, not in penitence, but with as much of enjoyment as could be extracted from the simple materials of antipodean life. Having taken with him all the cash he could lay hands upon, his deserted wife was left to do battle alone on a small income which was her own, and fortunately secured to her on her marriage.

She was much too energetic to sit still when she might work and earn money. The editor of a provincial paper, a friend of early days, gave her space in his columns for a weekly letter, and an introduction to a London confrere. On this slender foundation she built her humble fortunes. There were, in truth, few happier women in London. Brimful of interest in all the undertakings (and their name was legion) in which she was concerned, kind and unselfish, though quite free from sentiment, her life was full of movement and color. She had an enormous capacity for absorbing the marvellous, quite uninfluenced by the natural shrewdness with which she acted in all ordinary matters. In a bright surface way she was clever and full of ideas—ideas which others took up and fructified—from which Mrs. Needham herself derived no benefit beyond the pleasure of imparting them. She was constantly taken in by barefaced impostors, yet at times, and in an accidental way, hit on wonderfully accurate estimates of persons whom the general public credited with widely different qualities.

She had a nice little old-fashioned house in Kensington, with a pretty garden, just large enough to allow of visitors being well wet in rainy weather between the garden gate and the hall door. This diminutive mansion was crammed with curios, specimens of china, of carved wood, of Japanese lacquer—these much rarer than at present. It was a pleasant abode withal; a kindly, generous, happy-go-lucky spirit pervaded it. Few coming to seek help there were sent empty away, and the owner's earnest consideration was ready for all who sought her advice. It was real joy to her to entertain her friends in an easy, unceremonious way, and her friends were equally pleased to accept her hospitality.

On the present occasion Mrs. Needham was deeply interested in her expected guests. Katherine Liddell had pleased her from the first, practical and unsentimental as she was. She was disposed to weave a little romance round the bright sympathetic girl, who listened so graciously to her schemes and projects, whose brightness had under it a strain of tender sadness, which gave an indescribable subtle charm to her manner. Miss Payne she had known more or less for a considerable time, and regarded as a worthy, useful woman; while her third guest was the only child of the wealthy publisher George Bradley, the owner of that new and flourishing publication, The Piccadilly Review, wherein those brilliant articles on "Our Colonial System," "Modern European Politics," etc., supposed to be from the pen of Miles Errington, appeared.

"A partie carree of ladies does not seem to promise much," said Mrs. Needham, when she had greeted Miss Payne and "her young friend," into which position Katherine had sunk; "but unless I could have three or four men it is better to have none; besides we want to talk of business, and men under such circumstances always exclude us, so I don't see why we should admit them. Miss Bradley—Miss Payne, Miss Liddell, of whom you have heard me speak."

Miss Bradley rose from the sofa, where she was half reclining beside a bright wood fire, a tall stately figure in a long pale blue plush dress, cut low in front, and tied loosely with a knot of blue satin ribbon, nestling among the rich yellow white lace which fell from the edge of the bodice. She was extremely fair, even colorless, with abundant but somewhat sandy hair. Her features were regular and marked, a well-shaped head was gracefully set on a firm white column-like throat, and her eyes were clear and cold when in repose, but darkened and lit up when speaking of whatever roused and interested her. Indeed, she looked strong and stern when silent.

"I am very pleased to meet you," she said, in a full, pleasant voice. "I have often heard of you from Mrs. Needham, and I think you know a friend of mine—Mr. Errington."

"Yes; I know him," returned Katherine, feeling her face aflame.

"I have heard of you too," continued Miss Bradley, addressing Miss Payne, "from several mutual friends, though we have never happened to meet before. I think you had just left Rome with Miss Jennings when I arrived there some four years ago."

"I had; and remember you were expected there."

"Miss Jennings married a relation of mine, and I see her very often, at least often for London. She really looks younger, if possible, than formerly," etc., etc., and their talk flowed in the Jennings channel for a few minutes.

Meantime Mrs. Needham, passing her arm through Katherine's, led her away to a very diminutive back room, draped and carpeted with Oriental stuffs, then beginning to be the fashion, and crammed with all imaginable ornaments and specimens, from bits of rare "Capo di monti" to funny sixpenny toys. "I have just found such a treasure," she exclaimed; "a real saucer of old Chelsea, and only a small bit out of this side. Isn't Angela Bradley handsome? She is a very remarkable girl, or perhaps I ought to say woman. She speaks four or five languages, and plays divinely; then she is a capital critic. It was she who advised her father to publish that very singular book, The Gorgon's Head; every publisher in London had refused it. He took it, and has cleared—oh, I'd be afraid to say how much money by it."

"I hope the writer got a fair share," said Katherine, smiling.

"Hum! ah, that's another matter; but I dare say Bradley will treat him quite as fairly as any one else. She will have a big fortune one of these days. Her father perfectly adores her."

"I wish I could write," said Katherine, with a sigh. "It must be a charming way to earn money."

"Why don't you try? You seem to me to have plenty of brains; and I suppose you will have to do something. I was so sorry—" Mrs. Needham was beginning, when dinner was announced, and her sympathetic utterances were cut short.

The repast was admirable, erring perhaps on the side of plenteousness, and well served by two smart young women in black, with pink ribbons in their caps. Nor was there any lack of bright talk a good deal beyond the average. Miss Bradley was an admirable listener, and often by well-put questions or suggestions kept the ball rolling. Dinner was soon over, and coffee was served in the drawing-room.

"Now, Miss Payne, I should like to consult with you," said Miss Bradley, putting her cup on the mantel-piece, and resuming her seat on the sofa, where she invited Miss Payne by a gesture to sit beside her, "about the daughter of an old friend of mine, who does not want her to join him in India, as she is rather delicate, and he cannot retire for a couple of years. It is time she left school, and the question is, where shall she go?"

While Miss Bradley thus attacked the subject uppermost in her mind, Mrs. Needham settled herself in an arm-chair as far as she could from the speakers, and asked Katherine to sit down beside her.

"Let them discuss their business without us," she said, "and I want to talk to you. Here, these are some rather interesting photographs. They are all actors or singers on this side; you'll observe the shape of the heads, the contour generally; these are politicians, and have quite a different aspect. Remarkable, isn't it? But I was just saying when we went down to dinner that I was awfully sorry to hear of all your troubles—of course we must not regret that the man is alive; though if he is a cross-grained creature, as he seems to be, life won't be much good to him—and I shall be greatly interested if you care to tell me what your plans are."

"I really have none. There are several things I could do pretty well. I could teach music and languages, but it is so difficult to find pupils. Then I am still in great uncertainty as to what my cousin may do."

"He is a greedy savage," said Mrs. Needham, emphatically; "but he will not dare to demand the arrears. He would raise a howl of execration by such conduct. Now, as you have nothing settled, and if Angela Bradley and Miss Payne make it up, you will have to leave where you are. Suppose you come to me?"

"To you? My dear Mrs. Needham, it would be delightful."

"Would it? It is not a very magnificent appointment, I assure you. You see, I have so much to do that I really must have help. I had a girl for three or four months. I gave her twenty-five pounds a year, and thought she would be a great comfort, but she made a mess of my room and my papers, and could not write a decent letter; besides, she was discontented, so she left me, and I have been in a horrid muddle for the last fortnight. Now if you like to come to me, while you are looking out for something better, I am sure I shall be charmed, and will do all I can to push you. It's a miserable sort of engagement, but there it is; only I'll want you to come as soon as you can, for there are heaps to do."

"Indeed I am delighted to be your help, or secretary, or whatever you choose to call me, and as for looking for something better, if I can only save enough to provide for the boys, I would rather work with you for twenty-five pounds a year than any one else for—"

"For five hundred?" put in Mrs. Needham, with an indulgent smile, as she paused.

"No, no. Five hundred a year is not to be lightly rejected," returned Katherine, laughing. "But as I greatly doubt that I could ever be worth five hundred a year to any one, I gladly accept twenty-five."

"Remember, I do not expect you to stay an hour after you find something better. Now do me tell how matters stand with you."

Katherine therefore unbosomed herself, and among other things told how well and faithfully Rachel Trant had behaved toward her, of the fatherly kindness shown her by her old lawyer, and wound up by declaring that the world could not be so bad a place as it is reckoned, seeing that in her reverse of fortune she had found so much consideration. "Of course," she concluded, "there are heaps of people who, once I drop from the ranks of those who can enjoy and spend, will forget my existence; but I have no right to expect more. They only want playfellows, not friends, and ask no more than they give."

"Quite true, my young philosopher. Tell me, can you come on Saturday—come to stay?"

"I fear not. Besides I have a superstition about entering on a new abode on Saturday. Don't laugh! But I will come to-morrow, if you like, and write and copy for you. I will come each day till Monday next, and so help you to clear up."

"That is a good child! I wish I could make it worth your while to stay; but we don't know what silver lining is behind the dark clouds of the present."

Katherine shook her head. Mrs. Needham's suggestion showed her that peace and a relieved conscience was the highest degree of silvery brightness she anticipated in the future. One thing alone could restore to her the joyousness of her early days, and that was far away out of her reach.

"Mr. Errington and Mr. Payne," said one of the smart servants, throwing open the door.

"Ah, yes! Mr. Errington, of course," exclaimed Mrs. Needham, under her breath. "I might have expected him. And you too, Mr. Payne?" she added aloud. "Very glad to see you both."

As soon as they had paid their respects to the hostess, Errington spoke to Katherine, while Payne remained talking with Mrs. Needham.

"I am glad to see you looking better than when we last spoke together," said Errington, pausing beside Katherine's chair. "Have you had any communication from Newton yet?"

"I have heard nothing from him, and feel very anxious to know George Liddell's decision. I had a note from Mrs. Ormonde, written in a much more friendly spirit than I had expected, but still in despair. She, with the Colonel, had been to demand explanations from Mr. Newton, and do not seem much cheered by the interview."

"No doubt the appearance of your cousin was a tremendous blow, but they have no right to complain."

"However that may be, I will not quarrel with the boys' mother, in spite of her unkindness. I fear so much to create any barrier between us."

"Those children are very dear to you," said Errington, looking down on her with a soft expression and lingering glance.

"They are. I don't suppose you could understand how dear."

"Why? Do you think me incapable of human affection?" asked Errington, smiling.

"No, certainly not; only I imagine justice is more natural to you than love, though you can be generous, as I know."

Errington did not answer. He stood still, as if some new train of thought had been suddenly suggested to him, and Katherine waited serenely for his next words, when Miss Bradley, who had not interrupted her conversation, or noticed the new-comers in any way, suddenly turned her face toward them, and said, with something like command, "Mr. Errington!"

Errington immediately obeyed. Katherine watched them speaking together for some minutes with a curious sense of discomfort and dissatisfaction. Miss Bradley's face looked softer and brighter, and a sort of animation came into her gestures, slight and dignified though they were. They seemed to have much to say, and said it with a certain amount of well-bred familiarity. Yes, they were evidently friends; very naturally. How happy she was to be thus free from any painful consciousness in his presence! She was as stainless as himself, could look fearlessly in his eyes and assert herself, while she (Katherine) could only crouch in profoundest humility, and gratefully gather what crumbs of kindness and notice he let fall for her benefit. It was quite pitiable to be easily disturbed by such insignificant circumstances. How pitiably weak she was! So, with an effort, she turned her attention to Mrs. Needham and Bertie, who had slipped into an argument, as they often did, respecting the best and most effective method of dealing with the poor. In this Katherine joined with somewhat languid interest, quite aware that Errington and Miss Bradley grew more and more absorbed in their conversation, till Miss Payne, feeling herself de trop, left her place to speak with Mrs. Needham, while Katherine and Bertie gradually dropped into silence.

"Miss Bradley's carriage," was soon announced, and she rose tall and stately, nearly as tall as Errington.

"Will you excuse me for running away so soon, dear Mrs. Needham?" she said, "but I promised Mrs. Julian Starner to go to her musical party to-night. I am to play the opening piece of the second part, so I dare not stay longer. You are going?"—to Errington, who bowed assent. "Then I can give you a seat in my brougham," she continued, with calm, assured serenity.

"Thank you," and Errington, turning to Katherine, said quickly: "Will you let me know when you hear from Newton? I am most anxious as regards Liddell's decision."

"I will, certainly. Good-night." She put her hand into his, and felt in some occult manner comfort by the gentle pressure with which he held it for half a moment. Yes, beaten, defeated, punished as she was, he felt for her with a noble compassion. Ought not that to be enough?

"Good-night, Miss Liddell. I hope you will come and see me. I am always at home on Tuesday afternoons; and Miss Payne, when I have seen the grandmother of the girl we have been speaking about, I will let you know, and you will kindly take into consideration the points I mentioned. Good-night." And she swept away, leaning on Errington's arm.

"Now that we are by ourselves," said Mrs. Needham, comfortably, "I must tell you what I have been proposing to Miss Liddell. I should like you to know all about it," and she plunged into the subject. "I know it is but a poor offer," she concluded; "but for the present it is better than nothing, and she can be on the lookout for something else."

Bertie wisely held his tongue. Katherine declared herself ready and willing to accept the offer, and Miss Payne, with resolute candor, declared that the remuneration was miserable, but that it was as well to be doing something while waiting for a better appointment.

Poor Katherine was terribly distressed by this frankness, but Mrs. Needham was quite unmoved. She said she saw the force of what Miss Payne said, but there it was, and it remained with Miss Liddell to take or leave what she suggested.

Then Miss Payne's prospects came under discussion, and the doubtful circumstances connected with Miss Bradley's proposition.

"Now it is long past ten o'clock, and we must say good-night," remarked Miss Payne. "Really, Mrs. Needham, you are a wonderful woman! You have nearly 'placed' us both. How earnestly I hope there are better and brighter days before my young friend, whom I shall miss very much!"

"That I am quite sure. Well, she can go and see you as often as you like. Now tell me, isn't Angela Bradley a splendid creature?"

"She is indeed," murmured Katherine.

"Well, there is a good deal of her," said Miss Payne, with a sniff.

"Not too much for Mr. Errington, I think," exclaimed Mrs. Needham with a knowing smile. "I fancy that will be a match before the season is over. It will be a capital thing for Errington. Old Bradley is im-mensely rich, and I am sure Errington is far gone. Well, good-night, my dear Miss Payne. I am so glad to think I shall have Miss Liddell for a little while, at all events. You will come the day after to-morrow at ten, won't you, and help me to regulate some of my papers? Good-night, my dear, good-night."

Mr. Newton came into his office the afternoon the day following Mrs. Needham's little dinner. His step was alert and his head erect, as though he was satisfied with himself and the world. A boy who sat in a box near the door, to make a note of the flies walking into the spider's parlor, darted out, saying, "Please sir, Miss Liddell is waiting for you."

"Is she? Very well." And the old lawyer went quickly along the passage leading to the other rooms, and opening the door of his own, found Katherine sitting by the table, a newspaper, which had evidently dropped from her hand, lying by her on the carpet. She started up to meet her good friend, who was struck by her pallor and the sad look in her eyes.

"Well, this is lucky!" exclaimed Newton, shaking hands with her cordially. "I was going to write to you, as I wanted to see you, and here you are."

"I was just beginning to fear I might be troublesome, but I have been so anxious."

"Of course you have. And you have been very patient, on the whole. Well"—laying aside his hat, and rubbing his hands as he sat down—"I have just come from consulting with Messrs. Compton, and I am very happy to tell you it is agreed that George Liddell shall withdraw his claim to the arrears of income, but not to the savings you have effected since your succession to the property, also the balance standing to your name at your banker's is not to be interfered with; so I think things are arranging themselves more favorably, on the whole, than I could have hoped."

"They are, indeed," cried Katherine, clasping her hands together in thankfulness. "What an immense relief! I have more than three hundred pounds in the bank, and I have found employment for the present at least, so I can use my little income for the boys. How can I thank you, dear Mr. Newton, for all the trouble you have taken for me?" And she took his hard, wrinkled hand, pressing it between both hers, and looking with sweet loving eyes into his.

"I am sure I was quite ready to take any trouble for you, my dear young lady; but in this matter Mr. Errington has done most of the work. He has gained a surprising degree of influence over your cousin, who is a very curious customer; but for him (Mr. Errington, I mean), I fear he would have insisted on his full rights, which would have been a bad business. However, that is over now. Nor will Mr. Liddell fare badly. Your savings have added close on three thousand pounds to the property which falls to him. I am surprised that he did not try at once to make friends with you, for his little girl's sake. I hear he is in treaty for a grand mansion in one of the new streets they are building over at South Kensington. He is tremendously fond of this little girl of his. It seems Liddell was awfully cut up at the death of his wife, about a year and a half ago. He fancies that if he had known of his father's death and his own succession he would have come home, and the voyage would have saved her life. This, I rather think, was at the root of his rancor against you."

"How unjust! how unreasonable!" cried Katherine. "Now tell me of your interview with Mrs. Ormonde and her husband."

"Well—ah—it was not a very agreeable half-hour. I have seldom seen so barefaced an exhibition of selfishness. However, I think I brought them to their senses, certainly Mrs. Ormonde, and I am determined to make that fellow Ormonde pay something toward the education of his wife's sons."

"I would rather not have it," said Katherine.

"Nonsense," cried the lawyer, sharply. "You or they are entitled to it, and you shall have it. Mrs. Ormonde evidently does not want to quarrel with you, nor is it well for the boys' sake to be at loggerheads with their mother."

"No, certainly not; but, Mr. Newton, I can never be the same to her again. I never can forgive her or her husband's ingratitude and want of feeling."

"Of course not, and they know you will not; still, an open split is to be avoided. Now, tell me, what is the employment you mentioned?"

Katherine told him, and a long confidential conversation ensued, wherein she explained her views and intentions, and listened to her old friend's good advice. Certain communication to Mrs. Ormonde were decided on, as Katherine agreed with Mr. Newton that she should have no further personal intercourse concerning business matters with her sister-in-law.

"By-the-way," said Newton, "one of the events of the last few days was a visit from your protegee, Miss Trant. I was a good deal struck with her. She is a pretty, delicate-looking girl, yet she's as hard as nails, and a first-rate woman of business. She seems determined to make your fortune, for that is just the human touch about her that interested me. She doesn't talk about it, but her profound gratitude to you is evidently her ruling motive. I am so persuaded that she will develop a good business, and that you will ultimately get a high percentage for the money you have advanced—or, as you thought, almost given—that I am going to trust her with a little of mine, just to keep the concern free of debt till it is safely floated."

"How very good of you!" cried Katherine. "And what a proof of your faith in my friend! How can you call her hard? To me she is most sympathetic."

"Ay, to you. Then you see she seems to have devoted herself to you. To me she turned a very hard bit of her shell. No matter. I think she is the sort of woman to succeed. You have not seen her since—since her visit to me?"

"No. I have not been to see her because—not because I was busy, but idle and depressed. I will not be so any more. So many friends have been true and helpful to me that I should be ashamed of feeling depressed. I will endeavor to prove myself a first-rate secretary, and be a credit to you, my dear good friend."

"That you will always be, I'm sure," returned Newton, warmly.

"Now you must run away, my dear young lady, for I have fifty things to do. Your friend Miss Trant will tell you all that passed between us, and what her plans are."

"I am going to pay her a visit this evening. I do not like to trouble her either in the morning or afternoon, she is so busy. But I always enjoy a talk with her. She is really very well informed, and rather original."

"I believe she will turn out well. Good-by, my dear Miss Liddell. I assure you, you are not more relieved by the result of the morning's consultation than I am."