While matters were thus, Uncle Philip burst on her like a bomb. “He is alive! he is alive! he is alive!” And they had a cuddle over it.
“Oh, Uncle Philip! Have you seen him?”
“Seen him? Yes. He caught me on the hop, just as I came in from Italy. I took him for a ghost.”
“Oh, weren't you frightened?”
“Not a bit. I don't mind ghosts. I'd have half a dozen to dinner every day, if I might choose 'em. I couldn't stand stupid ones. But I say, his temper isn't improved by all this dying: he is in an awful rage with you; and what for?”
“O uncle! what for? Because I'm the vilest of women!”
“Vilest of fiddlesticks! It's his fault, not yours. Shouldn't have died. It's always a dangerous experiment.”
“I shall die if he will not forgive me. He keeps away from me and from his child.”
“I'll tell you. He heard, in Gravesend, your banns had been cried: that has moved the peevish fellow's bile.”
“It was done without my consent. Papa will tell you so; and, O uncle, if you knew the arts, the forged letter in my darling's hand, the way he wrought on me! O villain! villain! Uncle, forgive your poor silly niece, that the world is too wicked and too clever for her to live in.”