A truly desolate childhood mine. I had no big-fisted
uncle to thump me persuasively when I needed it; had fortune granted
me one I might have been a very different man, Lisbeth. You behold
in me a horrible example of what one may become whose boyhood has
been denuded of uncles."
"If you will be so very obliging as to return my - my property."
"My dear Lisbeth," I sighed, "be reasonable; suppose we talk of
something else;" and I attempted, though quite vainly, to direct her
attention to the glories of the sunset.
A fallen tree lay near by, upon which Lisbeth seated herself with a
certain determined set of her little, round chin that I knew well.
"And how long do you intend keeping me here?" she asked in a resigned
tone.
"Always, if I had my way."
"Really?" she said, and whole volumes could never describe all the
scorn she managed to put into that single word. "You see," she
continued, "after what Aunt Agatha wrote and told me - "
"Lisbeth," I broke in, "if you'll only - "
"I naturally supposed - "
"If you'll only let me explain - "
"That you would abide by the promise you made her and wait - "
"Until you knew your own heart," I put in.
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