‘Then pay us with Rupert,’ said Charlotte eagerly. ‘Couldn’t you bear Mr. Macpherson just for one week-end? Then everybody would know you were friends with him. Oh, uncle, poor Rupert, he is so sorry. And he did own up.’
‘What was that about a waxen image?’ asked the Uncle. Charlotte told him, and he nodded now and then and said, ‘Yes, yes!’ and ‘Exactly!’ And at the end he said:
‘Well, you have attained your end. You have reconciled them. The charm seemed to have worked.’
‘They’ve all worked,’ said Charlotte, ‘every single charm we’ve tried. Have yours, uncle?’
‘I wish they had,’ he answered, sighing. ‘Charlotte, I wish I could do what you wish. Don’t try spells to make me, because I can’t. Rupert must go back to-morrow, for a fortnight at least. But he shall come back then till the end of the holidays. Will that do? And I’ll explain to him that it’s not punishment, but just the consequences of what he did. If he hadn’t told that lie he wouldn’t have had to go back.’
‘But would you have kept him at first, if he hadn’t told it?’ Charlotte asked.
‘He was unhappy there. That would have been enough,’ said the Uncle—‘that and your spells.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Rupert to Charlotte later. ‘Your uncle’s forgiven me and I’m to come back. And he explained why I must go. And I see it. And I can stick it all right. And I’d rather suffer it up and start fair. I’d rather pay something. I shall have to write and tell my father. That’s worse than anything.’
‘And when you come back,’ said Charlotte, ‘we shall think it was all a bad dream.’