She had not waited very long, before he returned alone.
Mabel advanced timidly to meet him.
"Dear uncle," she said, "I want you to tell me that you were not offended with me yesterday."
"Offended with you, my poor child," said he, kindly; "far from it. Sad I am, indeed, about many things. I cannot bear the thought that my daughters' unkindness forces you to fly from us."
"Do not blame them, do not think of that, dear uncle, and believe only, how thankful I am that you have already shewn me so much kindness. I do not need consideration as much as I did, for I am quite resigned to all my losses now, and can go into the world and meet it with courage."
"I wish you were not going on Wednesday, either, for I have business which I must attend to that evening, and I should like to have spent it with you."
"Better as it is," said Mabel, smiling faintly, "I could not bear the thought of its being a last evening."
"No, no,—not the last by many times, I hope," said her uncle, "but I shall be up to see you into the coach in the morning, and, perhaps, may go a stage with you. But now I want to ask you how much money you will require for the present?"
"None, I thank you," said Mabel, smiling at the coolness with which he, evidently, hoped to surprise her into taking some.