"That is not his character, I am sure," said Lucy, striving to hide her indignation while she defended her lover's character.
"I do not think it is. Therefore he must remain independent, and I can do nothing for him."
"He knows that, Uncle Tom."
"Very well. Then there's an end of it. I only want to make you understand that I was willing to assist him, but that he was unwilling to be assisted. I like him all the better for it, but there must be an end of it."
"I quite understand, Uncle Tom."
"Then there's one other thing I've got to say. He accused me of having threatened to turn you out of my house. Now, my dear—" Hereupon Lucy struggled to say a word, hardly knowing what word she ought to say, but he interrupted her,—"Just hear me out till I've done, and then there need not be another word about it. I never threatened to turn you out."
"Not you, Uncle Tom," she said, endeavouring to press his arm with her hand.
"If your aunt said a word in her anger you should not have made enough of it to write and tell him."
"I thought she meant me to go, and then I didn't know whom else to ask."
"Neither I nor she, nor anybody else, ever intended to turn you out. I have meant to be kind to you both,—to you and Ayala; and if things have gone wrong I cannot say that it has been my fault. Now, you had better stay here, and not say a word more about it till he is ready to take you. That can't be yet for a long time. He is making, at present, not more than two hundred a year. And I am sure it must be quite as much as he can do to keep a coat on his back with such an income as that. You must make up your mind to wait,—probably for some years. As I told you before, if a man chooses to have the glory of independence he must also bear the inconvenience. Now, my dear, let there be an end of this, and never say again that I want to turn you out of my house."