"In truth I cannot, Katie. I do not know how it is, but no plots will
come. I have generally been able to devise something on which to hang my
characters and events; but my invention, such as it is--or rather
was--seems dried up and withered. What shall I do if my slight vein is
exhausted? Heaven knows I produced nothing very original or remarkable,
but my lucubrations were saleable, and I do not see how we can do
without this source of income."
"You only want rest," returned Katherine, taking her hand and laying her
cheek against it. "Your fancy wants a quiet sleep, and then it will wake
up fresh and bright. Take a holiday; put away pen, ink, and paper; and
you will be able to write a lovely story long before the money we expect
for your novel is expended."
"I hope so." She paused, and then resumed, with a sigh: "I ought to have
more sense and self-control at my age, but I confess that the
uncertainty about John Liddell's will absorbs me. Suppose, Katie, that
his money were to come to you. Imagine you and I rich enough not to be
afraid of the week after next! Why, our lives would be too blissful."
"They would," murmured Katherine. "When do you think we shall know?"
"I cannot tell. All possible search must be made before the law can be
satisfied.
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