'Oh yes, so it was;' and then there was an abstracted pause. 'I have been writing to Lord Ilbury, your trustee,' he resumed. 'I ventured to say, my dear Maud—(for having thoughts of a different arrangement for you, more suitable under my distressing circumstances, I do not wish to vacate without some expression of your estimate of my treatment of you while under my roof)—I ventured to say that you thought me kind, considerate, indulgent,—may I say so?'
I assented. What could I say?
'I said you had enjoyed our poor way of living here—our rough ways and liberty. Was I right?'
Again I assented.
'And, in fact, that you had nothing to object against your poor old uncle, except indeed his poverty, which you forgave. I think I said truth. Did I, dear Maud?'
Again I acquiesced.
All this time he was fumbling among the papers in his coatpocket.
'That is satisfactory. So I expected you to say,' he murmured. 'I expected no less.'
On a sudden a frightful change spread across his face. He rose like a spectre with a white scowl.