“Mr Dale, he doesn’t expect it.  He does not expect a penny.”

“So much the better for him; and, indeed, so much the better for her.  He won’t make her the less welcome to his home because she brings some assistance to it.”

“We have never thought of it,—­any of us.  The offer has come so suddenly that I don’t know what I ought to say.”

“Say—­nothing.  If you choose to make me a return for it—­; but I am only doing what I conceive to be my duty, and have no right to ask for a kindness in return.”

“But what kindness can we show you, Mr Dale?”

“Remain in that house.”  In saying these last words he spoke as though he were again angry,—­as though he were again laying down the law to them,—­as though he were telling her of a duty which was due to him and incumbent on her.  His voice was as stern and his face as acid as ever.  He said that he was asking for a kindness; but surely no man ever asked for kindness in a voice so peremptory.  “Remain in that house.”  Then he turned himself in towards his table as though he had no more to say.

But Mrs Dale was beginning, now at last, to understand something of his mind and real character.  He could be affectionate and forbearing in his giving; but when asking, he could not be otherwise than stern.  Indeed, he could not ask; he could only demand.

“We have done so much now,” Mrs Dale began to plead.

“Well, well, well.  I did not mean to speak about that.  Things are unpacked easier than they are packed.  But, however—­ Never mind.  Bell is to go with me this afternoon to Guestwick Manor.  Let her be up here at two.  Grimes can bring her box round, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes:  of course.”

“And don’t be talking to her about money before she starts.  I had rather you didn’t;—­you understand.  But when you see Crofts, tell him to come to me.  Indeed, he’d better come at once, if this thing is to go on quickly.”

It may easily be understood that Mrs Dale would disobey the injunctions contained in the squire’s last words.  It was quite out of the question that she should return to her daughters and not tell them the result of her morning’s interview with their uncle.  A hundred a year in the doctor’s modest household would make all the difference between plenty and want, between modest plenty and endurable want.  Of course she told them, giving Bell to understand that she must dissemble so far as to pretend ignorance of the affair.

“I shall thank him at once,” said Bell; “and tell him that I did not at all expect it, but am not too proud to accept it.”

“Pray don’t, my dear; not just now.  I am breaking a sort of promise in telling you at all,—­only I could not keep it to myself.  And he has so many things to worry him!  Though he says nothing about it now, he has half broken his heart about you and Bernard.”  Then, too, Mrs Dale told the girls what request the squire had just made, and the manner in which he had made it.  “The tone of his voice as he spoke brought tears into my eyes.  I almost wish we had not done anything.”