"Of course I won't," she answered. "I may want your help in a week or two."
He looked dismally about him, at the thick, dull laurel bushes and the heavy, grey sky. "I don't like this place, Maggie," he said, "and all those women. It's religion again, and it's worse than that Chapel. You don't seem to be able to get away from religion. You're not happy, my dear."
"Yes, I am," she answered firmly.
"No, you're not. And I'm not. But it will be all right in the end, I've no doubt. You'll never desert me, Maggie."
"I'll never desert you," Maggie answered.
He bent down and kissed her, his breath whisky-laden. She kissed him eagerly, tenderly. For a moment she felt that she would go with him, just as she was, and leave them all.
"Uncle," she said, "you understand how it is, don't you? We'd have asked you to stay if we'd known."
"Oh, that's all right." He looked at her mysteriously. "That new sister-in-law of yours was shocked with me. They wouldn't have me in the house. I saw that. And I only had one glass at the station. I'm not much of a man in society now. That's the trouble ... But next time I'll come down and just send you a line and you'll come to see me in my own little place—won't you? I'm in the devil of a mess, Maggie, that's the truth, and I don't know how to get out of it. I've been a bit of a fool, I have."
She saw the look of terror in his eye again.
"Would some money—" she suggested.