“Yes, a long telegram.”
“Uncle, what have you done?”
“What I ought to do, my child, and bade her tell her father and mother, and then go and break it gently to my brother.”
“Uncle!”
“There, there, my dear, you said I ought to put myself in your place; suppose you put yourself in mine.”
“Yes, yes, uncle, dear; I see now; I see.”
“Then try and be calm. You know how these difficulties sometimes settle themselves.”
“Not such difficulties as these, uncle. Harry! my brother! my poor brother!”
“Louie, my dear child!” said the old man, with a comical look of perplexity in his face, “have some pity on me.”
“My dearest uncle,” she sobbed, as she drew his face down to hers.