eak as I like; that my words will not be twisted to serve other
people's purposes. Forgive me if I speak harshly, but indeed you do not
know all yet. Your last letter made me a little sad, you speak so much of
Giles. Do you really think I am hard upon him? The idea is painful to me.

'I like you to think well of him. He is a good man. I have always
thoroughly respected him, but there is no sympathy between us. Of course
it is more Etta's fault than his: she has usurped my place, and Giles no
longer needs me. Perhaps I am not kind to him, not sisterly or soft in my
manners; but he treats me too much as a child. He never asks my opinion
on any subject. We live under his protection, and he never grudges us
money; he is generous in that way; but he never enters into our thoughts.
Lady Betty and I lead our own lives.

'You ask me why I do not write to him, my dear Ursula. Such a thought
would never enter my head. Write to Giles! What should I say to him? How
would such a letter ever get itself written? Do you suppose he would care
for me as a correspondent? I should like you to ask him that question, if
you dared. Giles's face would be a study. I fancy I write that letter,--a
marvellous composition of commonplace nothings. "My dear brother, I think
you will like to hear our Bournemouth news," etc. I can imagine him
tossing it aside as he opens his other letters: "Gladys has actually
written to me. I suppose she wants another cheque. See what she says,
Etta. You may read it aloud, if you like, while I finish my breakfast."
Now do not look incredulous. I once saw Lady Betty's letter treated in
this way, and all her poor little sentences pulled to pieces in Etta's
usual fashion. No, thank you, I will not write to Giles. I write to Lady
Betty sometimes, but not often: that is why she comes to you for news. We
are a queer household, Ursula. I am very fond of my dear little Lady
Betty, but somehow I have never enjoyed writing to her since Etta one day
handed to her one of my letters opened by mistake. Lady Betty has fancied
the mistake has occurred more than once.'

I put down this letter with a sigh; it was the only painful one I had
received from Gladys. My remark about her writing to her brother had
evidently upset her, but after this she did not speak much about Gladwyn,
and by tacit consent we spoke little about any of her people except Lady
Betty. When I mentioned Mr. Hamilton I did so casually, and only with
reference to m