"Then, leave it to me. I'll come and live here with one servant; and
I'll soon sell it for you."

"You, Uncle Philip!"

"Well, why not?" said he roughly.

"That will be a great trouble and discomfort to you, I'm afraid."

"If I find it so, I'll soon drop it. I'm not the fool to put myself out
for anybody. When you are ready to go out, send me word, and I'll come
in."

Soon after this he bustled off. He gave her a sort of hurried kiss at
parting, as if he was ashamed of it, and wanted it over as quickly as
possible.

Next day her father came, condoled with her politely, assured her there
was nothing to cry about; husbands were a sort of functionaries that
generally went to sea at some part of their career, and no harm ever
came of it. On the contrary, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," said
this judicious parent.

This sentiment happened to be just a little too true, and set the
daughter crying bitterly. But she fought against it. "Oh no!" said she,
"I MUSTN'T. I will not be always crying in Kent Villa."

"Lord forbid!"