It was very stuffy and close.
Constance looked ineffably fastidious and uncomfortable, and Dolores
gazed at the clouded window, and dull little lamp overhead, put in to
enliven the deepening twilight. This avoiding of Uncle Reginald
brought more before her mind a sense of wrong-doing than anything that
had gone before. She was fond of this uncle, who always made her
father's house his headquarters when in London, and used to play with
her when she was a small child, and always to take her to the
Zoological Gardens, till she declared she was too old to care for such
a childish show, and then he and her father both laughed at her so much
that she would never have forgiven anybody else; and she found he
enjoyed it for his own sake far more than she did. However, he always
did take her out for walks and sights that were sure to be amusing with
him. Father, too, was quite bright and alive when he was in the house,
and thus Dolores had nothing but pleasant associations connected with
this uncle, and had heard of the chances of his coming like a ray of
light, though without much hope, since the state of Ireland had
prevented him from being able even to run over to take leave of her
father. And now he was come, she must hide from him like a guilty
thing! There was no spirit of opposition against him in her mind, and
thus she could feel that she was doing something sad and strange.
Moreover, she began to feel that her promise about the cheque had been
a rash one, and the echo of her father's voice came back on her,
saying, 'Surely, Mary, you know better than to believe a word out of
Flinders's mouth.
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