Presently he asked her if he could help—do something besides handing dishes. She only grew yet pinker-cheeked, refused to look at him—Paul was sure she was aware that he was trying to make her look—and said there was really nothing to do. And she effected her escape as soon as possible, partly, Paul suspected wretchedly, to avoid giving him her hand. And yet, in contrariness, no sooner did she hear him go than she felt inclined to cry, and longed, with a strange inconsistency that puzzled herself, to run after him—to let her hand rest in that strong, dear grasp of his for a few moments, whilst she assured him there was nothing, nothing the matter. *CHAPTER XIV* "OSBORNE HOUSE, LANCASTER GATE, "_July_ 12, 19—. "MY DEAR HELEN, "It may not be news to tell you that I am a lonely old man; but how lonely and, for the matter of that, how old, I am but now beginning to realise. The realisation came upon me with the visit of that girl of yours—Hazel, she said her name was; rather an absurdly fanciful name, by the way: but there, I won’t carp, and it suits the child. I confess to you that she has taken me by storm; I have tried to fight against such feelings, called myself a sentimental old fool, in my second childhood, which is probably the right explanation; but however that may be, the feeling remains. She came into this dreary house like a breath of country, this Hazel of yours, and set me thinking of woods, nuts, berries, and flowers. Spirited, too: gave as good as she got from the old man. The long and short of it is: will you allow the child to stay with me for a short while? I know I have no claim upon you, no right to ask favours—I never for a moment imagined it possible that I _should_ ever ask a favour. That I have, and no small one, I grant, is in itself an apology for the past—a holding out of the olive-branch and all the rest of it. Don’t keep me waiting long for your answer. As I said before, I am a sentimental old fool, in my dotage, and I am lonely, or I should never have brought myself to the pitch of courage necessary for writing to you—of risking the probable humiliation of being denied what I ask—which, I admit, is all I deserve at your hands. "However you may decide concerning my request, let there be peace between us for the girl’s sake, and for the sake of old times. Let me once again have the privilege of signing myself "Your affectionate uncle, "PERCIVAL DESBOROUGH." "HAZELHURST, BERKS, "_July_ 13, 19—. "MY DEAR UNCLE,