My awe of my uncle had returned. I
fancied that he would treat the whole affair as a mere playful piece of
gallantry. So, with the comfortable conviction that he had had a lesson,
and would think twice before repeating his impertinence, I resolved, with
Milly's approbation, to leave matters as they were.
Dudley, greatly to my comfort, was huffed with me, and hardly appeared, and
was sulky and silent when he did. I lived then in the pleasant anticipation
of his departure, which, Milly thought, would be very soon.
My uncle had his Bible and his consolations; but it cannot have been
pleasant to this old _roue_, converted though he was--this refined man
of fashion--to see his son grow up an outcast, and a Tony Lumpkin; for
whatever he may have thought of his natural gifts, he must have known how
mere a boor he was.
I try to recall my then impressions of my uncle's character. Grizzly and
chaotic the image rises--silver head, feet of clay. I as yet knew little of
him.
I began to perceive that he was what Mary Quince used to call 'dreadful
particular'--I suppose a little selfish and impatient.
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