"Do you think you could be contented to come and live with me?"
"Come and live?"
"Yes. And let your mother and Helena go to Europe."
"O, Uncle Oldways! I think I could rest there! But I don't want only to rest, you know. I must do something. For myself, to begin with. I have made up my mind not to depend upon my mother. Why should I, any more than a boy? And I am sure I cannot depend on anybody else."
These were Desire Ledwith's thanks; and Mr. Oldways liked them. She did not say it to please him; she thought it seemed almost ungrateful and unwilling; but she was so intent on taking up life for herself.
"You must have a place to do in,—or from," said Mr. Oldways. "And it is better you should be under some protection. You must consent to that for your mother's sake. How much money have you got?"
"Two hundred and fifty dollars a year. Of my own."
This was coming to business and calculation and common sense. Desire was encouraged. Uncle Oldways did not think her quite absurd.
"That will clothe you,—without much fuss and feathers?"
"I have done with fuss and feathers,"—Desire said with a grave smile, glancing at her plain white wrapper and the black shawl that was folded around her.