If she felt
like that about her father why should she cry; and if she cried she
must surely have some affection for his memory. All he could say was:

"There, there, my dear--Well, well. It's all right." He felt foolish
and helpless.

She turned round at last, drying her eyes. "It's such a shame," she
said, still sobbing, "that that's what I shall feel about him. He's all
I had and that's what I feel. But if you knew--if you knew--all the
things he did."

They walked on again, entering Rothin Wood. "He never tried to make me
religious," she went on. "He didn't care what I felt. I sat in the
choir, and I took a Sunday-school class, and I visited the villagers,
but I, myself--what happened to me--he didn't care. He never took any
trouble about the church, he just gabbled the prayers and preached the
same old sermons. People in the village said it was a scandal and that
he ought to be turned out but no one ever did anything. They'll clean
everything up now. There'll be a new clergyman. They'll mend the holes
in the kitchen floor and the ceiling of my bedroom. It will be all new
and fresh."

"And what will you do, Maggie?" said her uncle, trying to make his
voice indifferent as though he had no personal interest in her plans.

"I haven't thought yet," she said.

"I've an idea," he went on. "What do you say to your living with me? A
nice little place somewhere in London. I've felt for a long time that I
should settle down. Your father will have left you a little money--not
much, perhaps, but just enough for us to manage comfortably. And there
we'd be, as easy as anything. I can see us very happy together."

But he did not as yet know his niece. She shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm going to live with Aunt Anne and Aunt Elizabeth.
We wouldn't be happy, Uncle, you and I. Our house would always be in a
mess and there are so many things that I must learn that only another
woman could teach me. I never had a chance with father."

He had entered upon this little walk with every intention of settling
the whole affair before their return. He had had no idea of any
opposition--her ignorance of the world would make her easy to adapt.
But now when he saw that she had already considered the matter and was
firmly resolved, his arguments deserted him.

"Just consider a moment," he said.

"I think it will be best for me to live with the aunts," she answered
firmly. "They have wished it before. Of course then it was imposs