“Who wants to dispose of their hands?”

“There are some things in which I think no uncle,—­no parent,—­should interfere, and of all such things this is the chief.  If after that you may choose to tell her your wishes, of course you can do so.”

“It will not be much good after you have set her against me.”

“Mr Dale, you have no right to say such things to me, and you are very unjust in doing so.  If you think that I have set my girls against you, it will be much better that we should leave Allington altogether.  I have been placed in circumstances which have made it difficult for me to do my duty to my children; but I have endeavoured to do it, not regarding my own personal wishes.  I am quite sure, however, that it would be wrong in me to keep them here, if I am to be told by you that I have taught them to regard you unfavourably.  Indeed, I cannot suffer such a thing to be said to me.”

All this Mrs Dale said with an air of decision, and with a voice expressing a sense of injury received, which made the squire feel that she was very much in earnest.

“Is it not true,” he said, defending himself, “that in all that relates to the girls you have ever regarded me with suspicion?”

“No, it is not true.”  And then she corrected herself, feeling that there was something of truth in the squire’s last assertion.  “Certainly not with suspicion,” she said.  “But as this matter has gone so far, I will explain what my real feelings have been.  In worldly matters you can do much for my girls, and have done much.”

“And wish to do more,” said the squire.

“I am sure you do.  But I cannot on that account give up my place as their only living parent.  They are my children, and not yours.  And even could I bring myself to allow you to act as their guardian and natural protector, they would not consent to such an arrangement.  You cannot call that suspicion.”

“I can call it jealousy.”

“And should not a mother be jealous of her children’s love?”

During all this time the squire was walking up and down the room with his hands in his trousers pockets.  And when Mrs Dale had last spoken, he continued his walk for some time in silence.

“Perhaps it is well that you should have spoken out,” he said.

“The manner in which you accused me made it necessary.”

“I did not intend to accuse you, and I do not do so now; but I think that you have been, and that you are, very hard on me,—­very hard indeed.  I have endeavoured to make your children, and yourself also, sharers with me in such prosperity as has been mine.  I have striven to add to your comfort and to their happiness.  I am most anxious to secure their future welfare.  You would have been very wrong had you declined to accept this on their behalf; but I think that in return for it you need not have begrudged me the affection and obedience which generally follows from such good offices.”