were talking loudly enough before Sara and I came into the room?'
For there is nothing like taking the bull of a dilemma by the horns; and
I had plenty of, let us say, native impudence, only, personally, I should
have given it another name; and then, of course, I brought the storm upon
me.

Sara was right. Aunt Philippa certainly talked the faster; Mrs. Fullerton
tried her best to edge in a word now and then,--a very scathing word,
too,--but there was no silencing that flow of rapid talk. I quite envied
her pure diction and the ingenious turn of her sentences; she made so
much of her own admirable foresight and care of me, and so little of my
merits.

'I always said something like this would happen, Ursula. I have told your
uncle often,--Brian, why don't you speak?--yes, indeed, I have told him
often that I never met any one so strong-minded and self-willed. You need
not laugh, Sara,--unless you do it to provoke me,--but I have been like a
mother to Ursula. Thank heaven, my daughters are not of this pattern!
they do not mistake eccentricity for goodness, or flaunt ridiculous
notions in the faces of their elders.'

This was too bad of Aunt Philippa; only she had lost her temper, and was
feeling utterly aggrieved, and Mrs. Fullerton, who was a meddlesome,
good-humoured woman, and who had nothing of which to complain in life
except a little over-plumpness and too much money, was agreeing with her
like a good neighbour and friend.

Uncle Max was smiling, and pulling his beard behind his paper; but he
made no attempt to check the flow of feminine eloquence. He had said his
say like a man, and had taken my part behind my back, and he knew women
were like new wine,--very sound and sweet, but they must find their vent.
Aunt Philippa would be kinder ever after if we let her scold us properly,
and took our scolding with a good grace.

Once or twice Uncle Brian let his eye-glasses dangle, and spoke a peevish
word or two.

'Nonsense, my dear! have I not said over and over again that this is
none of our business? Ursula is old enough to know her own mind; if she
chooses to be eccentric we cannot hinder her. All this talk goes for
nothing.'

'Ah, but, Mr. Garston, young people want guidance,' observed Mrs.
Fullerton impressively, for Aunt Philippa was beginning to sob, partly
from the effects of wasted eloquence, and perhaps with a little shortness
of breathing: anyway, her anger was working itself out. 'If you were to
advis