Uncle Max | Page 4

Brian will be there, and Jill, and we could
not say a word. Aunt Philippa and Sara have gone to see Lesbia. I have
been driving with them all the afternoon. Sara has been shopping, and
how bored I was!'
'You uncivilised little heathen!' Then, very gravely, 'Well, how is poor

Lesbia?'
'Do not waste your pity on her,' I returned impatiently. 'She is as well
and cheerful as possible. Even Sara says so. She is not breaking her
heart about Charlie. She has left off mourning, and is as gay as ever.'
'You are always hard on Lesbia,' he returned gently. 'She is young, my
dear, you forget that, and a pretty girl, and very much admired. It
always seems to me she was very fond of the poor fellow.'
'She was good to him in his illness, but she never cared for Charlie as
he did for her. He worshipped the very ground she walked on. He
thought her perfection. Uncle Max, it was pitiful to hear him sometimes.
He would tell me how sweet and unselfish she was, and all the time I
knew she was but an ordinary, commonplace girl. If he had lived to
marry her he would have been disappointed in her. He was so
large-hearted, and Lesbia has such little aims.'
'So you always say, Ursula. But you women are so severe in your
judgment of each other. I doubt myself if the girl lives whom you
would have considered good enough for Charlie. Yes, yes, my
dear,'--as I uttered a dissenting protest to this,--'he was a fine fellow,
and his was a most lovable character; but it was his last illness that
ripened him.'
'He was always perfect in my eyes,' I returned, in a choked voice.
'That was because you loved him; and no doubt Lesbia possessed the
same ideal goodness for him. Love throws its own glamour,' he went on,
and his voice was unusually grave; 'it does not believe in commonplace
mediocrity; it lifts up its idol to some fanciful pedestal, where the poor
thing feels very uncomfortable and out of its element, and then persists
in falling down and worshipping it. We humans are very droll, Ursula:
we will create our own divinities.'
'Lesbia would have disappointed him,' I persisted obstinately; but I
might as well have talked to the wind. Uncle Max could not find it in
his heart to be hard to a pretty girl.

'That is open to doubt, my dear. Lesbia is amiable and charming, and I
daresay she would have made a nice little wife. Poor Charlie hated
clever women, and in that respect she would have suited him.'
After this I knew it was no good in trying to change his opinion. Uncle
Max held his own views with remarkable tenacity; he had
old-fashioned notions with respect to women, rather singular in so
young a man,--for he was only thirty; he preferred to believe in their
goodness, in spite of any amount of demonstration to the contrary; it
vexed him to be reminded of the shortcomings of his friends; by nature
he was an optimist, and had a large amount of faith in people's good
intentions. 'He meant well, poor fellow, in spite of his failures,' was a
speech I have heard more than once from his lips. He was always ready
to condone a fault or heal a breach; indeed, his sweet nature found it
difficult to bear a grudge against any one; he was only hard to himself,
and on no one else did he strive to impose so heavy a yoke. I was only
silent for a minute, and then I turned the conversation into another
channel.
'But my letter, Uncle Max!'
'Ah, true, your letter; but I have not forgotten it. How old are you,
Ursula? I always forget.'
'Five-and-twenty this month.'
'To be sure; I ought to have remembered. And you have three hundred a
year of your own.'
I nodded.
'And your present home is distasteful to you?' in an inquiring tone.
'It is no home to me,' I returned passionately. 'Oh, Uncle Max, how can
one call it home after the dear old rectory, where we were so happy,
father, and mother, and Charlie--and--'
'Yes, I know, poor child; and you have had heavy troubles. It cannot be

like the old home, I am well aware of that, Ursula; but your aunt is a
good woman. I have always found her strictly just. She was your
father's only sister: when she offered you a home she promised to treat
you with every indulgence, as though you were her own daughter.'
'Aunt Philippa means to be kind,' I said, struggling to repress my
tears,--tears always troubled Uncle Max: 'she is kind in her way, and so
is Sara. I