My uncle first smiled, then frowned, and lastly sighed somewhat heavily.
"Your time will pass slowly in your old tower, poor brother," continued my father, "with only your little girl for a companion."
"And the past!" said my uncle; "the past, that mighty world—"
"Do you still read your old books of chivalry, Froissart and the Chronicles, Palmerin of England and Amadis of Gaul?"
"Why," said my uncle, reddening, "I have tried to improve myself with studies a little more substantial. And" (he added with a sly smile) "there will be your great book for many a long winter to come."
"Um!" said my father, bashfully.
"Do you know," quoth my uncle, "that Dame Primmins is a very intelligent woman; full of fancy, and a capital story-teller?"
"Is not she, uncle!" cried I, leaving my fox in a corner. "Oh, if you could have heard her tell me the tale of King Arthur and the enchanted lake, or the grim white women!"
"I have already heard her tell both," said my uncle.
"The deuce you have, brother! My dear, we must look to this. These captains are dangerous gentlemen in an orderly household. Pray, where could you have had the opportunity of such private communications with Mrs Primmins?"