“My dear Lettice,” she said simply, but with a ring of true cordiality, “I am so happy to see you. How cold you must be! Tea is waiting. Ingram,” as she led her newly found niece into the pretty drawing-room, “you have time for a cup of tea before you go?”
“Hardly,” he said; “I would rather not risk it. Now Lettice is in good hands, I would rather be off at once. If I am not back by eight or nine o’clock, don’t expect me to-night. But in that case I shall telegraph.”
“Uncle Ingram,” said Lettice, as he was hurrying off, “will you do one thing more? Will you telegraph to poor Nina that—that I am all right, and with you, and that you are doing all possible about Arthur?”
“Certainly, I will. I know the address,” he added, smiling. “And, Lettice, will you do one thing for me?”
“Of course. What is it?” she said eagerly.
She was standing close beside him at the moment.
“Give me a kiss, as a sign of—” He hesitated.
“Of gratitude to you for forgiving me,” she half whispered.
“Of better than that: of your accepting me from now as your uncle—your uncle who has always loved you, as your dear father’s brother, who longs to supply his place to you as well as he can.”
“Uncle Ingram,” said Lettice as she kissed him, “you are like papa. I understand now what made me look at you so when I first caught sight of you.”