Nina half shyly.

"Oh yes, I was going to do so. I am not skilled in story-telling, you
see. She was, at the time I first knew her--at the only time, indeed,
that I knew her--a very sweet and attractive girl, named Maud Bertram.
She was very pretty--more than pretty, for she had remarkably regular
features--her profile was always admired, and a tall and graceful
figure. And she was a bright and happy creature too; that, perhaps, was
almost her greatest charm. You will wonder--I see the question hovering
on your lips, Miss Lloyd, and on yours too, Mrs. Snowdon--why, if I
admired her and liked her so much, I did not go further. And I will tell
you frankly that I did not because I dared not. I had then no prospect
of being able to marry for years to come, and I was not very young. I
was already nearly thirty, and Maud was quite ten years younger. I was
wise enough and old enough to realise the situation thoroughly, and to
be on my guard."

"And Maud?" asked Mrs. Snowdon.

"She was surrounded by admirers; it seemed to me then that it would have
been insufferable conceit to have even asked myself if it could matter
to her. It was only in the light of after events that the possibility of
my having been mistaken occurred to me. And I don't even now see that I
could have acted otherwise----" Here Uncle Paul sighed a little. "We
were the best of friends. She knew that I admired her, and she seemed
to take a frank pleasure in its being so. I had always hoped that she
really liked and trusted me as a friend, but no more. The last time I
saw her was just before I started for Portugal, where I remained three
years. When I returned to London Maud had been married for two years,
and had gone straight out to India on her marriage, and except by
some few friends who had known us both intimately, I seldom heard her
mentioned. And time passed. I cannot say I had exactly forgotten
her, but she was not much or often in my thoughts. I was a busy and
much-absorbed man, and life had proved a serious matter to me. Now
and then some passing resemblance would recall her to my mind--once
especially when I had been asked to look in to see the young wife of one
of my cousins in her court-dress; something in her figure and bearing
brought back Maud to my memory, for it was thus, in full dress, that
I had last seen her, and thus perhaps, unconsciously, her image had
remained photographed on my brain. But as far as I can recollect at the
time when t