'I have been thinking a great deal about you, Maud. I am anxious. I have
not been so troubled for years. Why has not Monica Knollys a little more
sense?'
This oracular sentence he spoke, having stopped me in the hall; and then
saying, 'We shall see,' he left me as abruptly as he appeared.
Did he apprehend any danger to me from the vindictiveness of Madame?
A day or two afterwards, as I was in the Dutch garden, I saw him on the
terrace steps. He beckoned to me, and came to meet me as I approached.
'You must be very solitary, little Maud; it is not good. I have written to
Monica: in a matter of detail she is competent to advise; perhaps she will
come here for a short visit.'
I was very glad to hear this.
'_You_ are more interested than for my time _I_ can be, in vindicating his
character.'
'Whose character, sir?' I ventured to enquire during the pause that
followed.
One trick which my father had acquired from his habits of solitude and
silence was this of assuming that the context of his thoughts was legible
to others, forgetting that they had not been spoken.
'Whose?--your uncle Silas's.
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