‘Yes,’ said Charlotte, who hadn’t thought of this, ‘but Rupert’s been punished—all the time he has. No one else knows but me. He’s been perfectly miserable. Only he just couldn’t tell. And now he has, has told everybody, honourably everybody. Oh, dear uncle, don’t; I am so mizzy!’
‘Come here,’ said the Uncle, and Charlotte found a thin black-coated shoulder a very good place to cry on.
‘But you see,’ he said, ‘it’s only fair to Mr. Macpherson to send Rupert back. I am willing to believe that he has been punished enough.’
‘You don’t know,’ said Charlotte; ‘he’s been simply as unbearable as a bear, he’s been so unhappy.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said the Uncle slowly; ‘but no, it’s not fair to that man. Rupert must go.’
Then Charlotte had one of her bright ideas, and its brightness dried her tears.
‘Look here, uncle,’ she said, ‘I’ve got it—I really have. Wouldn’t it make up to Mr. Macpherson and show your confidence just the same if you asked him to come here on a visit?’
Charlotte found a thin black-coated shoulder a very good place to cry on.
‘I couldn’t,’ said the Uncle, and it was plain he spoke from the heart; ‘my work would all go—to pieces. I simply can’t have visitors, grown-up ones, I mean. The books you’ve found, they’ve revolutionised the whole scheme of my work. Yet,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘I owe you something for that.’