her is ungenerous enough to condemn me unheard, I
shall certainly not interfere with his notions of justice. Do not trouble
yourself about it, Gladys. It will come right some day. And indeed it
does not matter so much to me, except it keeps us apart.'

Now why, when I spoke so haughtily and disagreeably, and told this little
fib, did Gladys suddenly take me in her arms and kiss me most sorrowfully
and tenderly?

'One after another!' she sighed. 'Oh, it is hard, Ursula!' But I would
not let her talk any more about it, for I was afraid I was breaking down
and might make a goose of myself: so I spoke of Eric, and told her that
I had written to Joe Muggins without success, and soon turned her
thoughts into another channel.

CHAPTER XXXVII

'I CLAIM THAT PROMISE, URSULA'

It was soon after this that Uncle Max came home.

I met Mr. Tudor in the village one morning, and he told me with great
glee that they had just received a telegram telling them that he was on
his way, and an hour after his arrival he came down to the cottage.

Directly I heard his 'Well, little woman, how has the world treated you
in my absence?' I felt quite cheered, and told my little fib without
effort:

'Very well indeed, thank you, Max.'

It is really a psychological puzzle to me why women who are otherwise
strictly true and honourable in their dealings and abhor the very name
of falsehood are much addicted to this sort of fibbing under certain
circumstances; for instance, the number of white lies that I actually
told at that time was something fabulous, yet the sin of hypocrisy did
not lie very heavily on my soul.

When I assured Uncle Max with a smiling face that things were well with
me, his only answer was to take my chin in his hand and turn my face
quietly to the light.

'Are you quite sure you are speaking the truth? You look rather thin; and
why are your eyes so serious, little she bear?'

'It is such hot weather,' I returned, wincing under his kindly scrutiny.
'And we--that is, I have had anxious work lately. I wrote to you about
poor Janet Coombe. It is a miracle that she has pulled through this
illness.'

'Yes, indeed: I met Hamilton just now on his way to her, and he declared
her recovery was owing to your nursing; but we will take that with a
grain of salt, Ursula: we both know how devoted Hamilton is to his
patients.'

'He has saved her life,' was my reply, and for a moment my eyes grew dim
at the remembrance of