“I live here—have lived, ever since that time, with my guardian.”
He started back with a gesture of repulsion.
“Not that man, that crow, that Quayle?”
I laughed. He had no sense of humour. In all my knowledge of him I never knew him even to smile.
“O dear no!” I said. “A very different person; my uncle, Mr. Paxton.”
“He could not be too different to satisfy me as your guardian,” he responded grimly. Then his face softened, and he took my hands in his. “So long as I stay,” he said sorrowfully, “you will let me see you sometimes?”
Now, at that, my heart melted to him. He was so fierce, so vicious to the rest of the world, it was a certain glory to be his chosen.
“Won’t you come and see my uncle?” I said. “He is at home, not very well. He knows all about that trial, Mr. Pilbrow, and—and he loved my father dearly.”
I believe there were tears sprung to his eyes. I turned away abashed.
“Does he love you?” he asked low.