“Then I do not displease you, uncle?”
“I am angry with myself, child. I should never have brought you to this barbarism.”
“You have given me a home, Sir,” said she, fondly; but he only sighed, and she went on: “A home and a name!”
“A name! Yes,” said he, proudly, “a name that well befits you, but a home—how unworthy of you! What ignorance in me not to know that you would be like this!” And again he gazed at her with intense admiration. “But see, my child, to what this life of grovelling monotony conduces. Because I had not seen you and heard your voice, I could not picture to my poor besotted mind that, besides beauty, you should have that gracefulness the world deems higher than even beauty. Nay, Kate, I am no flatterer; and, moreover, I will not speak of this again.”
“I will try to make you satisfied that you did well to send for me, Sir,” said she, meekly; and her heart felt almost bursting with delight at the words of praise she had just heard.
“How did you induce them to part with you?” asked he, calmly.
“I gave no choice in the matter, Sir. I showed your letter to Sir Within Wardle, and he would not hear of my leaving. I tried to discuss the matter, and he only grew impatient. I hinted at what your letter had vaguely insinuated—a certain awkwardness in my position—and this made him downright angry. We parted, and I went to my room. Once alone, I took counsel with myself. The result was, that I wrote that letter which you received, and I came away the same morning I wrote it.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, Sir, alone.”
“And without a leave-taking?”