“It is from Mrs. Harrington,” she said. “It is a very kind letter.”
She looked at her uncle, whose face had suddenly hardened. He seemed to be schooling himself to hear something unpleasant.
“Ay!” he muttered, “ay! I suppose she’ll get her way now. I suppose I can’t hope to keep you now. She’ll get you--she’ll get you.”
“Then I think you are a very mean old man!” exclaimed Eve. “I don’t believe you are a sailor at all. You are what you call a land-lubber, if you think that I am the sort of person to accept your kindness when you are prosperous, and then - and then when heavy weather comes to go away and leave you.”
The old man smiled rather wanly, and fumbled with the red pocket-handkerchief.
“As it happens, Mrs. Harrington does not ask me to go and stay with her--she asks me--” She paused and laid her hand on his shoulder gently. “She asks me--to accept money.”
Captain Bontnor sat upright.
“Ay-y-y,” he said, “charity.”
“Yes,” said Eve quietly, “charity; and I’m going to accept it.”
Captain Bontnor scratched his head. His manners were not, as has already been stated, remarkable for artificiality or superficial refinement. He screwed up his features as if he were swallowing something nasty.