He seemed interested, and listened attentively.

’It is such a sad case, Max,—­poor Phoebe’s, I mean,—­but I am almost as sorry for her sister.  Susan Locke is such a good woman.’

’You would say so if you knew all, Ursula, but Miss Locke would never tell you herself.  When Phoebe’s illness came on, and Hamilton told them that she might not get well for a year or two, or perhaps longer, Susan broke off her own engagement to stay with her sister.  Her father was just dead, and the child Kitty had to live with them.’

‘Miss Locke engaged!’ I exclaimed, in some surprise, for it had never struck me that the homely middle-aged woman had this sort of experience in her life.

Max looked amused.

’In that class they do not always choose youth and beauty.  Certainly Susan Locke was neither young nor handsome, but she was a neat-looking body, only she has aged of late.  Do you want to know all about it?  Well, she was engaged to a man named Duncan:  he was a widower with three or four children; he had the all-sorts shop down the village, only he moved last year.  He was a respectable man and had a comfortable little business, and I daresay he thought Miss Locke would make a good mother to his children.  She told me all about it, poor thing!  She would have liked to marry Duncan; she was fond of him, and thought he would have made her a steady husband; but with Phoebe on her hands she could not do her duty to him or the children.

’"And there is Kitty; and he has enough of his own; and a sickly body like Phoebe would hinder the comfort of the house, and I have promised mother to take care of her.”  And then she asked my opinion.  Well, I could not but own that with the shop and the house to mind, and five children, counting Kitty, and a bedridden invalid, her hands would be over-weighted with work and worry.

’"I think so too,” she answered, as quietly as possible, “and I have no right to burden Duncan.  I am sure he will listen to reason when I tell him Phoebe is against our marrying.”  And she never said another word about it.  But Duncan came to me about six months afterwards and asked me to put up his banns.

’"I wanted Susan Locke,” he said, in a shamefaced manner, “but that sister of hers hinders our marrying; so, as I must think of the children, I have got Janet Sharpe to promise me.  She is a good, steady lass, and Susan speaks well of her."’

Uncle Max had told his story without interruption.  I listened to it with almost painful interest.

With what quiet self-denial this homely woman had put aside her own hopes of happiness for the sake of the sickly creature dependent on her!  She had owned her affection for Duncan with the utmost simplicity; but in her unselfishness she refused to burden him with her responsibilities.  If she married him she must do her duty by him and his children, and she felt that Phoebe would be a drag on her strength and time.