me with you and work too!--but there is mother, she could not do
without me, and so we must just go on in the same old way.'

I was so shocked at the hopelessness of her tone, so taken aback at her
words, that I could not answer her for a moment: it seemed inconceivable
to me that she could be saying such things. Poor pretty Lesbia, whom
Charlie had loved and whom I considered a mere fragile butterfly. She
was quite pale now, and her eyes filled suddenly with tears.

'You do not believe me, Ursula; no, I was right--you never understood me.
I often told dear Charlie so. You think, because I laugh and dance and do
as other girls do, that I have forgotten--that I do not suffer. Do you
think I shall ever find any one so good and kind in this world again? Oh,
you are hard on me, and I am so miserable, so unhappy, without Charlie.
And I am not like you: I cannot work myself into forgetfulness; I must
stop with mother and do as she bids me, and she says it is my duty to be
gay.'

I was so ashamed of myself, of my mean injustice, that I was very nearly
crying myself as I asked her pardon.

'Why do you say that?' she returned, almost pettishly, only she looked so
miserable. 'I have nothing to forgive. I only want you to be good to me
and not think the worst, for I'm really fond of you, Ursula, only you are
so reserved and cold with me,'

'My poor dear,' I returned, taking the pretty face between my hands and
kissing it. 'I will never be unkind to you again. Forgive me if I have
misunderstood you: for Charlie's sake I want to love you.' And then she
put her head down on my shoulder and cried a little, and bemoaned herself
for being so unhappy; and all the time I comforted her my guilty
conscience owned that Uncle Max was right.

CHAPTER IV

UNCLE MAX BREAKS THE ICE

Uncle Max was one of those men who like to take their own way about
things; he never hurried himself, or allowed other people's impatience
to get the better of him. 'There is a time for everything, as Solomon
says,' was his favourite speech when any one reproached him with
procrastination; 'depend upon it, the best work is done slowly. What is
the use of so much hurry? When death comes we shall be sure to leave
something unfinished.'

So for two whole days he just chatted commonplaces with Aunt Philippa,
rallied Sara, who loved a joke, and talked politics with Uncle Brian, and
never mentioned one word about my scheme; if I looked anxiously at him he