I remembered the dear old rectory life, where every one was in earnest, and contrasted it with the trifling pursuits that my aunt and cousin called duties.  My present existence seemed to shut me in like prison bars.  Only to be free, to choose my own life!  And then came emancipation in the shape of hard hospital work, when health and spirits returned to me; when, under the stimulus of useful employment and constant exercise of body and mind, I slept better, fretted less, and looked less mournfully out on the world.  Uncle Max was right when he said a year at St. Thomas’s would save me.

By and by the idea dawned upon me that I might still carry out my plan; there were poor people at Heathfield, where Uncle Max’s parish was.  What should hinder me from living there under Uncle Max’s wing and trying to combine the two lives, as Charlie wished?

I was young, full of activity.  I did not wish to shut myself out from my kind.  I could discharge my duties to my own class and enjoy a moderate amount of pleasure.  I was young enough to desire that; but the greater part of my time would be placed at the disposal of my poorer neighbours.  People might think it singular at first, but they would not talk for ever, and the life would be a happy one to me.

All this had been said in that voluminous letter of mine to Uncle Max; he might argue and shake his head over it, thereby proving himself a wise man, but he could not but know that I was absolutely under my own control, as far as a woman could be.  I need ask no one’s advice in the disposal of my own life; his own and Uncle Brian’s guardianship was merely nominal now.  After five-and-twenty I was declared my own mistress in every sense of the word.

Uncle Brian came out to meet us as soon as he heard Uncle Max’s voice in the hall; the two were very great friends, and they shook hands cordially.

’Glad to see you, Cunliffe; why did you not let us know that you were coming up to town?  We could have put you 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.