CHAP. II.

BOOKWORM.

My stepmother sat in an easy chair, and looked round the room allotted to her, with considerable complacency.

"It's not bad-not bad at all. The worst is, a month is short and will soon go. I wouldn't mind having this room for a permanency, Catherine."

The words were said with a light laugh which terminated in a yawn. They set me thinking, however-such thoughts as Mrs. Warner did not perhaps intend to rouse just then. The getting rid of me was not the sum total of that scheme, in which I said to myself, daily, that I would be no participator. Was it not possible that in these plotting thoughts of hers I took my place as a sort of ladder by which she hoped to rise above her present obscurity? Did no picture of herself-her object achieved-snugly installed in these quarters on which she looked so approvingly-rise up before her, as attainable? Another thought occurred to me, coming vaguely out of the mist of conjecture in which she would have been more at home than I was. She was not an old woman; why had she selected me? Why not win the future master of this place for herself? She was clever enough for anything.

"A disparity of about ten years," said Mrs. Warner abruptly, to my infinite amazement. "No, Catherine: if he were a little younger, or a great deal older, the thing might be worth a thought; as it is, fear nothing from me. A man of two or three and thirty turns naturally to the freshness of youth. I am a handsome woman yet, but he would not look at me; he has gone through his fever of boyish folly years ago."

I did not answer. At every word the conviction that my guess concerning her hope of personal benefit from her plan was correct, became stronger; and I felt my case more hopeless.

66

Very considerate of them," pursued Mrs. Warner, "to give us rooms communicating with each other. Would you mind reaching me that footstool? Thanks. Don't go yet, Catherine, if you are not very sleepy."

Mrs. Warner's face grew speculative as she settled her feet upon the stool and looked at her watch.

"Just ten minutes longer. Let me see; yes. Sir James; as I used to think him, hospitable but absent; a little moonstruck. Lady Cave, invisible and therefore unimportant. What a comfortable chair this is! Why don't you sit down, Catherine?"

"I prefer standing."

"Ah, it's a blessing to be young. Well then," she went on, as though mentally checking off her enemies and examining the ground of battle, "Mrs. Locke, sister to the baronet, goodnatured, motherly, great on children's diseases: not dangerous. Mr. Locke-him-the husband of Mrs. Locke, which is about all, I think, I can say of him; makes a point of reading the parliamentary debates and worrying Sir James about them; is strong on bank shares and limited liability; and has a theory: not dangerous either. Lastly, Edward Cave, younger brother, and-do you know, Catherine," said Mrs. Warner slowly, "I never contemplated Edward's being at home. It is unfortunate."

"Is it? I was very glad to see him, and I thought you were also."

"Did you think so? He did not. As to your being glad-but there is no danger to your peace of mind from Edward. A younger son, and such a younger son, is sure to steer clear of penniless young ladies. You were playfellows once, I think?"

"Yes."

"Ah, that was before I had the pleasure of knowing either of you. When I did make Edward Cave's acquaintance we conceived a mutual antagonism and distrust. There is no