'What a little misanthrope you
are, Ursula! St. Thomas's has injured you socially; you have become a
hermit-crab all at once, and it is such nonsense at your age.'

'Oh, let me be, Sara!' I pleaded; 'I am tired, and Lesbia always chatters
so; and Mrs. Fullerton is worse. Besides, did you not tell me she was
coming to dine with us this evening?'

'Yes, to be sure; but she wanted us to meet the Percy Glyns. Mirrel and
Winifred Glyn are to be there this afternoon. Never mind, Lesbia will
understand when I say you are in one of your ridiculous moods.' And Sara
hummed a little tune gaily, as though she meant no offence by her words
and was disposed to let me go my own way.

'The carriage can take you home, Ursula; we can walk those few yards,'
observed Aunt Philippa, as she descended leisurely, and Sara tripped
after her, still humming. But I took no notice of her words: I had had
enough dulness and decorum to last me for some time, and the Black Prince
and his consort Bay might find their way to their own stables without
depositing me at the front door of the house at Hyde Park Gate. I told
Clarence so, to his great astonishment, and walked across the road in an
opposite direction to home, as though my feet were winged with
quicksilver.

For the Park in that dim November light seemed to allure me; there was
a red glow of sunset in the distance; a faint, climbing mist between the
trees; the gas-lamps were twinkling everywhere. I could hear the ringing
of some church bell; there was space, freedom for thought, a vague,
uncertain prospect, out of which figures were looming curiously,--a
delightful sense that I was sinning against conventionality and Aunt
Philippa.

'Halloo, Ursula!' exclaimed a voice in great astonishment; and there, out
of the mist, was a kind face looking at me,--a face with a brown beard,
and dark eyes with a touch of amusement in them; and the eyes and the
beard and the bright, welcoming smile belonged to Uncle Max.

As I caught at his outstretched hand with a half-stifled exclamation
of delight, a policeman turned round and looked at us with an air of
interest. No doubt he thought the tall brown-bearded clergyman in the
shabby coat--it was one of Uncle Max's peculiarities to wear a shabby
coat occasionally--was the sweetheart of the young lady in black. Uncle
Max--I am afraid I oftener called him Max--was only a few years older
than myself, and had occupied the position of an elder brother to me.