“Ill use me, Don?” cried Mrs Lavington. “Nonsense, my dear boy. Your uncle is all that is kind and good; and he loves you very dearly, Don, if you could only try—try a little more, my dear boy, to do what he likes, and please him.”
“I do try, mother, but it’s no good.”
“Don’t say that, Don. Try a little harder—for my sake, dear, as well as your own.”
“I have tried, I am always trying, and it’s of no use. Nothing pleases uncle, and the men in the yard know it.”
“Don, my boy, what foolish obstinate fit is this which has come over you?” said Mrs Lavington tenderly.
“I’m not obstinate,” he said sullenly; “only unhappy.”
“Is it not your own fault, my darling?” she whispered; “believe me, your uncle is one of the kindest and best of men.”
Don shook his head.
“Are you going to prefer the opinion of the men of the yard to mine, dear?”
“No, mother, but uncle is your brother, and you believe in him and defend him. You know how harsh and unkind he is to me.”