And those two were closer together in heart than they had ever before been, since Heatherleigh had become Tom Blount’s home.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Uncle Richard made no further reference to the past day’s business, but Tom noticed that he looked very serious and dejected. He caught him gazing too in a peculiar way, and upon their eyes meeting Tom saw his uncle draw himself up rather stiffly, as if he were saying to himself—“Well, it was not my fault—my honour is not smirched.”
Tom felt that his uncle must have some such thought as this, and exerted himself to make him see that this sad business had only drawn them closer together.
The plan of turning the laboratory into more of a study had been gradually working, and that morning, after their return from town, a couple of book-cases were moved up, with a carpet and chairs, making the circular room look cosy.
“Yes,” said Uncle Richard, as they looked round that evening; “the place looks quite snug, Tom. My old study was just right for one; but when it was invaded by a great rough boy like you there was not room to move. This will do capitally; you can take possession of some of the shelves for your specimens that you collect, and we can make it a museum as well.”
“You won’t mind, uncle, if I do bring things up here?”
“I shall mind if you do not, boy. This is our room, mind, where we can be quite independent, and make it as littery as we like without being called to account by Mrs Fidler every time there is a mess.”