‘Well, my dear, you are certainly rather peculiar, you know.’

‘Oh, Uncle Max,’ I said mournfully, ’are you going to misunderstand me too?  Providence has deprived me of my parents and my only brother:  is it strong-minded or peculiar to be so lonely and sad at heart that gaiety only jars on me?  Can I forget my mother’s teaching when she said, “Ursula, if you live for the world you will be miserable.  Try to do your duty and benefit your fellow-creatures, and happiness must follow"?’

’Yes, poor Emmie, she was a good woman:  you might do worse than take after her.’

‘She would not approve of the life I am leading at Hyde Park Gate,’ I went on.  ’She and Aunt Philippa never cared for each other.  I often think that if she had known she would not have liked me to be there.  Sundays are wretched.  We go to church?—­yes, because it is respectable to do so; but there is a sort of reunion every Sunday evening.’

‘I wish I could offer you a home, Ursula; but—­’ here Uncle Max hesitated.

‘That would not do at all,’ I returned promptly.  ’Your bachelor home would not do for me; besides, you might marry—­of course you will,’ but he flushed rather uncomfortably at that, and said, ’Pshaw! what nonsense!’ We had paused under a lamp-post, and I could see him plainly:  perhaps he knew this, for he hurried me on, this time in the direction of home.

‘I am five-and-twenty,’ I continued, trying to collect the salient points of my argument.  ’I am indebted to none for my maintenance; I am free, and my own mistress; I neglect no duty by refusing to live under Uncle Brian’s roof; no one wants me; I contribute to no one’s happiness.’

‘Except to Jill’s,’ observed Uncle Max.

’Jill! but she is only a child, barely sixteen, and Sara is becoming jealous of my influence.  I shall only breed dissension in the household if I remain.  Uncle Max, you are a good man,—­a clergyman; you cannot conscientiously tell me that I am not free to lead my own life, to choose my own work in the world.’

‘Perhaps not,’ he replied, in a hesitating voice.  ’But the scheme is a peculiar one.  You wish me to find respectable lodgings in my parish, where you will be independent and free from supervision, and to place your superfluous health and strength—­you are a muscular Christian, Ursula—­at the service of my sick poor, and for this post you have previously trained yourself.’

‘I think it will be a good sort of life,’ I returned carelessly, but how my heart was beating!  ’I like it so much, and I should like to be near you, Uncle Max, and work under you as my vicar.  I have thought about this for years.  Charlie and I often talked of it.  I was to live with him and Lesbia and devote my time to this work.  He thought it such a nice idea to go and nurse poor people in their homes.  And he promised that he would come and sing to them.  But now I must carry out my plan alone, for Charlie cannot help me now.’  And as I thought of the sympathy that had never failed me my voice quivered and I could say no more.