"Was it?" said our Uncle Peter. He didn't seem as sorry as you'd have expected.
The Lady looked at Carol. The Lady looked at me.
"How many children have you?" she said.
"None of my own," said our Uncle Peter. "But three of my brother Philip's,—Carol and Ruthy as here observed, and Rosalee aet. eighteen who is at present in Cuba engaging herself to be married."
"O—h," said the Lady.
"I am in short," said our Uncle Peter, "that object of Romance and Pity popularly known as a 'Bachelor Uncle.'"
"O—h," said the Lady. She seemed more relieved than you'd have supposed.
"But in my own case, of course—" said our Uncle Peter.
In the very midst of his own case he stopped right off short to look all around the room again as though he was counting how heavy the toys were and how heavy the money was that had bought the toys. All the twinkle came back to his eyes.
"But in my own case," he said, "I've always known ahead—of course—for a very long time—that I was going to have 'em.—Learned to sit lightly on the idea,—re-balance my prejudices,—re-adjust my—"