Uncle Max | Page 8

up easily--eh, Ursula?'
'Yes, indeed, Uncle Brian'; and then I added coaxingly, 'Do please send
for your portmanteau, Uncle Max; you know Lesbia is coming this
evening, and you are such a favourite with her.' I knew this would be a
strong inducement, for Uncle Max's soft heart would insist on treating
Lesbia as though she were a widowed princess.
'All right,' he returned in his lazy way, and then I took the matter into
my own hands by leaving the room at once to consult with Mrs. Martin,
Aunt Philippa's housekeeper. As I closed the door I glanced back for
another look at Uncle Max. He had thrown himself into an easy-chair,
as though he were tired, and was leaning back with his hands under his
head in Charlie's fashion, looking up at Uncle Brian, who was standing
on the rug.
I always thought Uncle Brian a very handsome man. He had clear,
well-cut features and a gray moustache, and he was quiet and dignified.

He always looked to me, with his brown complexion, more like an
Indian officer than a wealthy banker. There was nothing commercial in
his appearance; but I should have admired him more if he had been less
cold and repressive in manner; but he was an undemonstrative man,
even to his own children.
I remember hinting this once to Uncle Max, and he had rebuked me
more severely than he had ever done before.
'I do not like young girls like you, Ursula, to be so critical about their
elders. Garston is an excellent fellow; he has plenty of brains, and
always does the right thing, however difficult it may be. Men are not
like women, my dear: they often hide their deepest feelings. Your poor
uncle has never been quite the same man since Ralph's death, and just
as he was getting over his boy's loss a little he had a fresh
disappointment with Charlie: he always meant to put him in Ralph's
place.'
I was a little ashamed of my criticism when Max said this. I felt I had
not made sufficient allowance for Uncle Brian: the death of his only
son must have been a dreadful blow. Ralph had died at Oxford; they
said he had overworked himself in trying for honours and then had
taken a chill. He was a fine, handsome young fellow, nearly
two-and-twenty, and his father's idol: no wonder Uncle Brian had
grown so much older and graver during the last few years.
And he had been fond of Charlie, and had meant to have him in Ralph's
place; my poor boy would have been a rich one if he had lived. Uncle
Brian had taken him into the bank, and Lesbia and her fortune were
promised to him, but the goodly heritage was snatched away before his
eyes, and he was called away in the fresh bloom of his youth.
I always thought Uncle Brian liked Max better than any other man: he
was always less stiff and frigid in his presence. I could hear his low
laugh--Uncle Brian never laughed loudly--as I closed the door; Max
had said something that amused him. They would be quite happy
without me, so I ran up to the schoolroom on the chance of getting a
chat with Jill.

The schoolroom was on the second floor, where Jill, I, and Fräulein all
slept. Sara had a handsome room next to her mother's, and a little
boudoir furnished most daintily for her special use. I do not believe she
ever sat in it, unless she had a cold or was otherwise ailing; the
drawing-room was always full of company, and Sara was the life of the
house. I used to peep in at the pretty room sometimes as I went up to
bed; there were few notes written at the inlaid escritoire, and the
handsomely-bound books were never taken down from the shelves.
Draper, Aunt Philippa's maid, fed the canaries and dusted the cabinets
of china. Sometimes Sara would trip into the room with one of her
cronies for a special chat; the ripple of their girlish laughter would
reach us as Jill and I sat together. 'Whom has Sara got with her this
afternoon?' Jill would say peevishly. 'Do listen to them; they do nothing
but laugh. If Fräulein had set her all these exercises she would not feel
quite so merry,' Jill would finish, throwing the obnoxious book from
her with a little burst of impatience.
I always pitied Jill for having to spend her days in such a dull room; the
furniture was ugly, and the windows looked out on a dismal back-yard,
with the high walls of the opposite building. Aunt Philippa, who was a
rigid disciplinarian with her young daughter, always said that she had
chosen the