Chapter VII: Uncle Edward's Offer

GERALD came down late to breakfast the following morning when the meal was more than half over. One glance at his face was enough to show Angel that he had not overcome his ill-temper. He muttered a few apologetic words to the effect that he had overslept himself as he took his place at the table, and cast a look of disgust at the rasher of bacon upon his plate.

"You have only yourself to blame if your breakfast is cold," his father told him; "I am afraid it is not very appetizing now. If you don't care for the bacon, have some bread and butter and marmalade instead."

"I am not hungry," the boy replied, as he sipped his lukewarm coffee; "I don't want any breakfast."

"Are you not well?" Mr. Willis asked, with a glance of inquiry at his son's sullen countenance.

"Quite well, thank you, father."

"Then I am afraid you must have got out of bed the wrong side this morning," Mr. Willis remarked; "you had better change your mind, and eat something, or you will be starving long before dinner-time.—There seems very little hope of the fog clearing," he proceeded, turning his attention to Mr. Bailey; "I believe you will have to content yourself in the house to-day, uncle."

"I can do that very well," was the cheerful response. "Shall you be very busy this morning, John, or can you spare me an hour? I want to have a talk with you."

"I can give you as much time as you like, uncle, for there will be no light for painting. If you will join me in my studio after breakfast, we shall be quite undisturbed."

Mr. Bailey nodded; and as soon as the meal was over followed his nephew from the room.

"I wonder what Uncle Edward wants to talk to father about," Gerald exclaimed curiously, the moment he was alone with his sister. "Do you know, Angel?"

"No, I haven't the least idea," she replied promptly, "How we shall miss Uncle Edward when he leaves, shan't we?"

"You will; you've seen more of him than I have. You're his favourite."

"Oh, Gerald, I wish you wouldn't say that!" Angel cried in vexation. "Of course I've seen more of him than you have, because you've been at school all day; but I'm sure he's quite as kind to you as he is to me."

"He took you to Wreyford with him, anyway."

"You know why that was."

"Because he likes you better than me!"

Angel made no response. She was deeply pained at her brother's jealous tone, and it was with difficulty she restrained the angry words which trembled on her lips.

"I suppose it's about time I started for school," the boy proceeded, "and I'm not perfect in one of my lessons. There'll sure to be a row, and it'll be all your fault, Angel, for being so selfish and disobliging last night."

Saying which, Gerald snatched up his bag of books and left the room, slamming the door after him. His sister listened to his footsteps descending the stairs, her heart full of indignation. Fond as she was of her brother, she could not blind herself to the injustice of his remarks; she had hoped he would have overcome his resentment against her by the morning, and her grief at the unkind spirit he was evincing towards her was eclipsed by her anger at his jealousy.

Mr. Bailey and his nephew spent the morning together in the latter's studio, whilst Angel remained disconsolately in the sitting-room. It was miserable, depressing weather, and as the little girl gazed out into the thick fog she sighed regretfully, thinking of the sunny days she had spent at Wreyford, and wishing it was her lot in life to dwell in the country.

Towards noon the fog lifted somewhat, so that after the midday meal Mr. Bailey was tempted by the clearing atmosphere to go out. Angel was prepared to spend the afternoon alone, for she thought her father would desire to make the most of the short spell of daylight they were likely to have; but, much to her surprise and pleasure, he remained in the sitting-room, and, seating himself in the easy chair by the fireplace, called her to his side.

"I want to have a confidential talk with you, little daughter," he said affectionately, as she took her favourite place on a stool at his feet, and rested her head against his knee; "tell me some more about your doings this past week."

She obeyed willingly, delighted to find with what close attention he listened to her. She told him everything she could think of, and entered into all the trifling details of her visit, to all of which he lent an attentive ear, occasionally asking a question, but for the most part allowing her to talk undisturbed.

"Would you like to live at Wreyford?" he inquired presently.

"Oh, indeed I should!" she replied readily.

"At Haresdown House, for instance?"

"Yes," she nodded; "I think it will be a lovely place when Uncle Edward has had the house done up, and the shrubs in the front garden cut down a bit. Mrs. Mickle said she thought it was rather lonely because it stands by itself, you know, with no other house in sight, but I am sure I should not be half so lonely there as here in London."

Mr. Willis gave an involuntary sigh, which caused Angel to glance up at him quickly. To her surprise he was looking unusually grave and thoughtful.

"Poor people are generally lonely in London," he remarked a little sadly. "You are right, Angel. I wish I could afford to make a home for you in the country, but, you see, it is necessary I should be in town at present, whilst I have so much illustrating work and sketches for papers to do."

"Oh, I know, father. I dare say some day, when you are rich and famous, it will not matter where you live, and then we will have a beautiful home in the country too."

He smiled, and stroked her hair with a tender hand. Being naturally of a sanguine temperament himself, he always hoped for the best; and though success was long in coming, he believed it would come, so he seldom discouraged Angel when she began to build castles in the air.

"Ah, yes," he said, "but meanwhile I must remain where I am—until my picture is finished, at any rate. Now I want to tell you what Uncle Edward was talking about this morning. He was telling me what a lonely life you lead, my dear, and how wrong it is that your education should be neglected, and that you ought to go to school like other little girls."

"Oh, father!"

"He is quite right, but perhaps I had not altogether realized these facts until he put them to me so plainly. You lead an unnatural life for a child of your years; if your dear mother had been spared to us it would have been different. I am afraid I am a bad manager, but really by the time the household accounts are paid, and Gerald's school bill, I never seem to have any money in hand." and Mr. Willis, who was one of the most unbusiness-like men in the world, shook his head dolefully. "Uncle Edward says I ought to send Gerald to a less expensive school, and that he is growing up selfish and extravagant," he added, after a slight pause.

"Oh, father!" Angel was commencing protestingly, when the remembrance of her brother's treatment of her since her return the preceding night made her pause, and reflect that there was some truth in Mr. Bailey's remarks. Then, too, she knew that though Gerald was given a generous allowance of pocket-money every week, he was always asking for more, and rarely spent a penny on any one but himself.

"Uncle Edward is very fond of you, Angel," Mr. Willis told her; "he says you are so very companionable and sensible. Now, I am coming to the really important part of what he said. He wants you to make your home with him at Haresdown House, and then he will send you to school, and—"

"And what did you say, father?" Angel broke in impetuously. "Didn't you tell him it was impossible, quite impossible?"

"No, my dear; I don't know that it is."

"Oh, father!" the little girl cried reproachfully, "as though I could ever bear to leave you and Gerald! You don't want to send me away from you, do you?"

"No, certainly not; but I must think of your ultimate good. Uncle Edward is most kind, most generous, and he would give you a happy home; you would go to school, and have friends of your own age, and—"

"Oh, father!" Angel interrupted again; "I can't bear to think of it. Nothing would make up to me for being separated from you and Gerald. I don't think mother would like it, I don't indeed," and her eyes filled with tears, whilst her lips trembled piteously. "Don't send me away from you," she said imploringly, as she rose and twined her arms around his neck; "don't! Who would mend your stockings if I was not here? And wouldn't you miss me? You said you did when I was at Wreyford for only one little week."

"Yes," Mr. Willis admitted, looking troubled; "but I must not be selfish, my dear."

"Oh, father, you couldn't be that! You never are! Then, there's Gerald. Think of him! Who help him with his lessons, and—"

"Ah, Angel, that is a mistake too. You help Gerald a great deal more than is good for him; if you remain at home, I must put a stop to your doing so much for your brother."

"Oh no, father! I like helping him. I do indeed. And I promised mother before she died that I would be good to him. But do say you mean to keep me with you. Oh, I wish I had never, never said how much I liked the country!"

"Don't wish that. Think over Uncle Edward's offer, child. You like him, do you not? Yes, I know you do. Of course you would feel the separation from Gerald and me at first, but consider what a pleasant time you would have at Wreyford. You would have everything that your heart could desire; it's my opinion that Uncle Edward would spoil you terribly."

"I could not bear it, I could not!" Angel cried, the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh, father, do let me stay with you! How can you think of sending me away when you know it would break my heart?" And overcome with grief the little girl sobbed bitterly.

Much distressed at the sight of her emotion, Mr. Willis soothed her as best he could. He kissed her tenderly, at the same time assuring her she should not leave him against her will.

"I told Uncle Edward the acceptance or refusal of his offer must rest with you," he said, when, much comforted, she reseated herself on the stool at his feet; "still, I could do no other than point out to you the many advantages you would reap by going to live with him at Haresdown House; but I shall not part with my little daughter without she herself wishes it, because she is very dear to me, and though it wouldn't break my heart to send her away if it was for her good, yet I should feel doing so very deeply."

"How glad I am to hear you say that!" Angel exclaimed, her tear-stained face brightening into a smile. "Because, sometimes, I wish I was clever like Gerald, and it makes me unhappy to think how stupid I am; but if only you love me, father, and let me stay with you, I don't care for anything else."

"You are not stupid," Mr. Willis told her with an amused laugh; "indeed, you have a very wise head upon a young pair of shoulders."

"But I can't draw," Angel said, "and I know you are sorry I can't. I have heard you say lots of times that I have missed the artistic temperament."

"Well, perhaps I am a little disappointed on that account," Mr. Willis allowed with an amused twinkle in his eyes; "but you have other excellent qualities which may serve you as well, if not better."

"Mother used to say God gave different talents to different people," Angel remarked thoughtfully, "but I don't know that I have any particular talent."

"I believe you have one—perhaps more; but I am certain you have one."

"What is it?" she asked eagerly.

"A talent for happiness," he replied, with a smile.

"Oh, father, that is nothing!" she cried in disappointed tones.

"Nothing, is it? I think it's something worth cherishing with the greatest care. To possess a talent for happiness you must be blessed with a contented spirit."

"Mother used to say that if we believed God did everything for the best we should always be contented."

"She was right. You must never forget her teaching. I love to hear you quote her so often."

Father and daughter spent the remainder of the afternoon very happily together; the time passed so quickly that both were surprised when Gerald returned from school, although he was later than usual. His temper had not improved, for he had been in hot water on account of his not having prepared his home-work properly, and he had consequently a long imposition to do that evening, besides his usual lessons. When informed by his father of Mr. Bailey's offer to Angel, and her refusal of it, he expressed great surprise.

"I only wish Uncle Edward would ask me to go and live with him at Haresdown House!" he exclaimed. "Don't you think I might go instead of Angel, father?"

"I should not dream of suggesting it," Mr. Willis replied, at which the boy's face fell.

"You wouldn't like to leave us, would you, Gerald?" Angel questioned somewhat reproachfully.

"Wreyford is not so very far from here," he said evasively, refraining from giving a direct answer. "It would be so much jollier in the country. It's a pity we can't all leave London. What a silly you are not to want to go with Uncle Edward, Angel; still, I'm glad you've made up your mind to stay at home; it isn't like the same place when you're away!"

The little girl's eyes shone with happiness at this remark; she failed to grasp the vein of selfishness running through it, but her father did, and his face expressed the displeasure he felt. A short while later Mr. Bailey returned, and Mr. Willis at once told him Angel had decided to remain in her London home.

"It is not that I don't love you," Angel said, as she saw the disappointment in her uncle's countenance, "because I do. But I can't leave father and Gerald; I can't indeed. Oh, please don't think I don't understand how kind you are, and how good—"

"Kind! Good! Nonsense!" Mr. Bailey cried. "I am nothing of the kind. I'm a selfish old man, my dear, that's what I am. I think I knew in my heart what your decision would be; I won't say though I'm not disappointed, because I am. I should have tried to make you happy at Haresdown House; but never mind, never mind. You shall come and visit me—all of you—whenever you like. John—" turning to his nephew with a beaming smile— "when the great picture is finished you'll deserve a holiday, and I mean to see you take it."

Gerald had listened to all this with great interest, half hoping Mr. Bailey would transfer his offer from Angel to himself, but such an idea apparently never crossed his uncle's mind. The boy was very silent during the evening, but when his sister offered her assistance with his lessons, he was only too glad to accept it; and after his work was finished, he grew better tempered, and Angel, being not in the least resentful, was only too glad to make friends with him again, and thus peace was restored.