Of course one had always known that there
was--somewhere--a person named Uncle Paul; but he had appeared about as
remote and indefinite a being as--that same Sultan of Turkey, for
instance.
"After all, why shouldn't he?" Pauline answered.
"But I don't believe he would've if Paul had not written to him that
time," Patience added. "Maybe next time I tell you anything, you'll
believe me, Hilary Shaw."
But Hilary was staring at Pauline. "You didn't write to Uncle Paul?"
"I'm afraid I did."
"Was--was that the letter--you remember, that afternoon?"
"I rather think I do remember."
"Paul, how did you ever dare?"
"I was in the mood to dare anything that day."
"And did he answer; but of course he did."
"Yes--he answered. Though not right away."
"Was it a nice letter? Did he mind your having written? Paul, you
didn't ask him to send you--these," Hilary waved her hand rather
vaguely.
"Hardly--he did that all on his own. It wasn't a bad sort of letter,
I'll tell you about it by and by. We can go to the manor in style now,
can't we--even if father can't spare Fanny. Bedelia's perfectly
gentle, I've driven her a little ways once or twice, to make sure.
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